One Child This Earth
by Invisible Staircase
Summary: "Nations are losing brothers… and here I am pining for one… what a world… what a world…" As Nations disappear, America's thoughts turn to opportunities he never had, but may gain sooner than he thinks.
1. Chapter 1

**Story Intro:**

Hey, welcome to my fic and thanks for readin'. I know this idea isn't terribly original, but I do hope you can enjoy my execution of it. I don't actually have a lot to say in the introduction for once. The first chapter (yep, multi-chapter fic here) starts off a bit angsty and slow, but things will hopefully pick up soon enough. So yes again, I hope you enjoy.

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The night air shrouded the large resort, blanketing it in a veil of somber quiet. Stars twinkled overhead, tiny observers to the rather glum world below. Where normally there would be noise and activity, the hotel complex was mute. World Conferences were anything but parties… but typically there was something going on. As serious as their tasks and their reasons for their existence were, the Nations were certainly not immune to participating in some shenanigans. Even a Nation needed to have some fun, let off some steam when the stress and strain of world events threatened to crush their shoulders.

Lately though, it seemed as if that strain had triumphed. Lately the Nations had found little reason to celebrate, play, or even smile. For certain there were global issues painting the world dark… tense diplomatic relations, economic strife, natural disasters… but that wasn't what had finally seemed to cast the Nations into depression. From his seat in the rather empty courtyard, America let out a long sigh into the night air.

His eyes were trained to the stars, staring at them with an almost desperate longing. Texas had been removed, as if somehow he could see up into space better without his glasses on. They dangled in his hand, seemingly carelessly, but of course America would never let any accidental harm come to the eyepieces. No, for all he seemed the forlorn figure, collapsed back and draped over a bench, he wasn't so far gone that his fingers would slip. He swallowed thickly, blue eyes never leaving the inky black night dotted with shimmering jewels.

"I thought I might find you out here," the voice didn't cause America to turn his head, nor did it prompt any sort of response even if he knew the source of the voice would only become aggravated by his lack of response. He heard the footsteps move across the brick courtyard, each step seeming to echo in this very silent night. His visitor came to stop behind the bench, standing right next to America and looking down at the head that was hanging so far over the back of the bench that it almost seemed like he should be staring behind him.

England's green eyes appraised him coolly, and if there was any of the worry the older Nation would have shown America as a child in that gaze, England was doing a wonderful job of hiding it. That or America was simply missing it, which was entirely likely. The blond with the bushy brows didn't come around the bench to sit, simply crossing his arms across his chest and staring down at his former colony.

"You promised to bring me a copy of your economic stimulus plan… I'm certainly not about to let you present it tomorrow without crossing out anything that's absolute rubbish." The man scoffed, uncaring for now that America still hadn't acknowledged him. "As if that will leave anything for you to present of course. Honestly your ideas get worse and worse… I sometimes wonder if you go out of your way to find terrible ideas." England shook his head, as if apparently amused with his own train of thought, before trying to catch America's gaze.

The younger Nation stared right past him, up at the stars and the stars alone. The forlorn look hadn't moved from his face, and England sighed, turning his own eyes skyward. He left things in silence, and America was content to let him. The two peered up into the darkened heavens together, each thinking thoughts that were miles away from each other yet woven together. America began to chew on his lip, brows furrowing as the longing he felt inside seemed to claw and dig deeper into his chest.

As the silence continued to stretch, England let his eyes flick down to America for only a moment. It was such a rare event to find a quiet America, even with the depression that was sitting upon the Nations. As much as England wanted to revel in it, wanted to bask in the opportunity to be next to the American without his ears being assaulted by idiotic words and a constant butchery of his language… something inside urged him to speak.

"It… things will get better again…" England began, his voice soft and kind instead of gruff and clipped. He let his gaze slide to the right, taking in one of the hotel rooms facing the courtyard, staring at the dark drawn curtains that hid the occupant from sight. "I know you haven't lived through such events but… I assure you… the world will carry on… we'll find a way to sort things through… and we'll… we'll all…"

The older Nation trailed off, tongue tied and frustrated for a moment. He'd never been the sort who was good at pep talks like this… and honestly he didn't know why he was even trying. It wasn't as though it seemed America was even listening, the ungrateful brat. Still… perhaps these words were for his own sake, not his idiotic former charge's. "We'll get past this… we'll move on."

America finally seemed to rouse to attention, looking to the same room that England was, as if he could see inside to the occupant. Would he be awake still? Perhaps he was drinking inside, alone and suffering? Or maybe he would be the exact same way he'd been in the conference, a silent stoic suffering wall… a wall of so many cracks and fissures it made people afraid to even breathe too hard around him.

Still… what could really be expected? The Nation had lost two of the most important figures in his life… America couldn't even imagine how that would feel. "I always figured it'd be Romano… ya know?" His voice felt distant to him, as if it wasn't even his own. When did his voice start sounding so hollow? He finally met England's gaze as they both averted their eyes from Germany's hotel room. He gave a rather wan smile up at his former guardian. "It just seemed a no brainer… if there was ever gonna just be one Italy… well… it'd be Veneziano who stayed… not the other way around."

England nodded his head, not of the mind to actually verbally agree with anything America said, even in this situation. "I do worry about whether or not he's up for the job… Italy Veneziano may not have been the most… ah…" He reached for a polite turn of phrase, not wishing to speak ill of the departed. Giving up, he changed his statement slightly. "Well, guiding both the North and South of Italy will actually be quite a challenge, and though he's been doing his best so far I worry that Romano does not sufficiently understand the…"

The green eyed Nation trailed off, noticing that America's gaze had returned to the stars again, the younger Nation tuning him out in favor of his own thoughts. England scowled, cursing the self centered git mentally. Why bring up a topic if you weren't even interested in a proper discussion of it?

"I didn't think Prussia would have ever gone away either… he was like a roach or something… just wouldn't die…" America muttered, reaching a hand skyward. England stared at that hand, watched it as the fingers curled and flexed, stretching out as if trying to reach out and grab the very stars. Long had America been obsessed with the stars and outer space… yet tonight England could all but feel the utter sorrow and heartbreak the younger Nation was feeling… the emotions curling somehow around the celestial bodies in a way he couldn't rightly understand.

All he did know was that seeing America stare so wistfully at the sky… to watch him reach… part of England began to ache as well. Though he knew full well America wasn't his responsibility anymore, though he knew painfully well that there should be no lingering obligations between the two of them after the Revolution and Independence… it couldn't stop that old feeling from finding its way up. In that moment, if England could have reached out and given America the stars, he would have.

"I would have been great, ya know?" America's words caused England to jump, and when he turned his blue eyes to the other man, he gave a small chuckle at the flustered expression the other wore. Perhaps in the past he would have teased him on it, but there was so much else America felt he needed to say. "I know without a doubt that I would have done an awesome job… I would have been the best big brother ever! I mean, I learned from the best, right?"

The words and the lopsided grin tossed his way caused England to flounder for a moment, his mind and emotions suddenly thrown into a twisted jumble. For a moment, part of him had suddenly warmed, pleased and flattered by America's praise. Rarely did they actually speak of their fallen status as brothers, and even rarer was it that those talks were civil and positive. To hear America actually say that England had been a good brother touched him deeply.

All the same, England couldn't deny or fight the sudden annoyance, anger, and indignation that bubbled up hot in his chest, turning what had been a flustered blush into a red faced scowl. Hearing such praise from America's lips was almost just as insulting as it was touching. The best indeed… he'd done such a wonderful job they'd come to war. He'd done such a wonderful job America had taken to violence to get away from him. He'd done a magnificent job raising a blundering fool who mistakenly thought he could save the world and solve everyone's problems for them.

Yes yes, just _grand_! Well done there. Shaking his head, England fixed a cool glare at the younger Nation.

"In case you've forgotten," he said with a scathing tone, quiet as his voice was. As much as he wanted to just lay into the American for the statement, he knew it wasn't the best idea to cause a ruckus out in the courtyard, not with all the other Nations dealing with the all too recent disappearances of North Italy and Prussia. "You already _are_ a big brother you bloody wanker… spectacular job you're doing at it if you've forgotten!" He didn't need to go admitting that he'd barely remembered that fact himself. America didn't need to know that.

America's brows furrowed, deep annoyance creasing between his eyes. He hadn't forgotten his brother… uh… Canada! He remembered him of course! England was just being thick here (quite the ironic statement coming from the American). "That's not what I meant… that doesn't count!"

England threw up his hands, shaking his head. No, he certainly wasn't interested in hearing America's woes. He'd come out here to get documents… to possibly attempt to cheer the other Nation up or at the very least find some distraction in some light nonsensical bickering… not listen to endless idiocy over a topic that was always a bit raw. "I don't want to hear it; I'm going back to my room. No need to bother with the draft of the plan… I'll hear it with everyone else tomorrow."

America opened his mouth to speak before giving up, letting his head hang back and eyes return to the stars dismally. He didn't see England pause in his walk away, didn't see the older Nation fight off the urge to tell America to try to get some rest, that it might make him feel better and clear his head. America missed such concern as usual, wrapped up in the view of only what he wanted to see.

Alone again, his thoughts continued to travel in the same worn path they'd been doing since Prussia had disappeared last year. It'd been a bit of a shock to the rest of the Nations for certain, though something they'd all perhaps suspected should have happened long ago. Despite the supposedly strained relations between the ex-Nation and his younger brother, Germany had been hit by the loss pretty hard. He'd continued on with his duties as all had expected, but everyone could tell. Even America. Those ice blue eyes had become just a bit colder, just a bit duller.

Then… just seven months ago… North Italy had suddenly disappeared. It caused much more alarm amongst the Nations, for Italy wasn't an ex-Nation like Prussia. There'd been no reason most could see for the disappearance of a healthy national personification. Much searching had been conducted, trying to find the flighty and whimsical Italy Veneziano. When search after search came up empty, the Nations had been forced to conclude he was gone… forced to declare Italy Romano as _Italy_ instead… the title of South and Romano no longer needed. One representative… one Italy… none could see why it had happened… but it had.

It was like twisting a knife in the already open emotional wound on the German. The little Italian had been doing so much to keep Germany's spirits up after the loss of his elder brother… and now that little bundle of cheer was gone from Germany's grasp as well. It wounded the blond deeply; the blond who'd resisted their friendship so tenaciously before giving in and falling into mutual affection completely. It was a bitter reward for opening up, for lightening up. It seemed to all but kill off any humor or happiness the German man had.

As for Romano… for _Italy_? If the Italian had been ill tempered and difficult to deal with before, no one wanted to deal with him now. No one save Spain, who managed as always to let Italy's insults and anger slide right off of him. More than anyone Spain had stepped up to help Italy become a singular representative, helping him take the reins of responsibility in full. It was amusing to see the seemingly carefree and cheerful Spain take on such a serious and important task… yet it only made sense. Who else would be a suitable (and willing) mentor but Italy's former boss?

The world was changing… _supposedly_ redundant and unnecessary Nations were apparently being stripped away from the world… and it'd brought on an old ache inside of America. It was difficult in so many ways to be such a young Nation. On the whole, America reveled in it, thrived in it, and used his youthful vigor and idealism to the full extent. However… there were some things that he knew he would always hate about it. No matter how much his people and country was criticized for forcefully spreading their culture and political views on others… America had missed out on the age of exploration.

There was no 'New World' for him to explore… no vast expanses left for him to wander and roam and taste. He'd explored the entire breadth and width of his own lands… and now was left only wandering lands that'd belonged to others for longer than he'd existed. There was nothing new on Earth for him to find… no little brother for him to adopt and tend to.

Foolish as the feeling was… as much as he knew others would ridicule him for it… America desperately wished for a little brother. He wanted someone small and innocent… someone who wouldn't look upon him with accusing eyes… someone who could see him without bias again… someone he could raise and protect and be a hero to. He envied the elder Nations so much. He envied their age old memories… something he didn't have. He envied their ability to persist for so very long, to adapt yet remain true to themselves.

Even though he was a shining example of what could happen when raising a young Nation… even though he was the poster child for turning against your guardian… America wanted it. His Revolution had been a good thing… something to be proud of… and though he doubted England would ever feel the same… he wished his former guardian could understand that. His independence was something that England should be proud of as well! It had to happen… and if America had ever had the chance to raise a little brother of his own… he would have waited for the day he was abandoned as well.

Letting out a small chuckle, he could all but hear England's angry retort over such a sentiment in his mind. 'I hope you do find a child… I hope it DOES turn on you… feel that and tell me how wonderful it was for you.' The 'I told you so' would be so loud in his voice, America just knew it.

Still… the possibility didn't lessen America's desire in the slightest. He wanted a little brother. He wanted a New World to explore. He wanted… he wanted…

"What does it matter…" he muttered, hand reaching for the stars again. "There's nowhere else here… the Earth is full… too full… my only hope… lies up there…" Space… the 'final frontier' to borrow the words of one of his favorite TV shows. It was the only place remaining where he might be able to find what he was craving… and yet as Tony was a prime example of… even space may have grown up without him already.

"Nations are losing brothers… and here I am pining for one… what a world… what a world…" Dropping his arm, America gave up. He shoved Texas back onto his face and stood up, shoving his hands deeply into the pockets of his bomber jacket. The cold night wind rushed across his face, neither soothing nor enlightening. There was no answer to his problem, no easy solution for him to grab up. He could only hope to ignore it until it faded. Lord knew there were plenty of problems in the world for a hero like him to tackle in the meantime.

Eyes trained skyward as he walked, America was even less aware of his surroundings than normal. Brooding and angsting were never acts that the typically optimistic and oblivious young Nation did well, and when he did fall into such depressions it usually used up a considerable amount of his thoughts and attention. It left him even blinder to the world around him… blind to the men who'd been watching him and waiting. Blind to the men who'd patiently observed him until he started to walk right towards their trap.

The damp cloth that suddenly covered his nose and the pricking of the syringe startled America to alertness for just a moment before his senses started to swim and the world began to fade. Hitting the ground, America's eyes stared less at the men who moved to cart him away, and more up at those far off intangible stars. They hadn't even given him a chance to struggle before he blacked out… smart.

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

They were watching. Those stupid cameras were on him, he knew they were, but he didn't care. He'd stopped caring about privacy after the first couple of weeks. Hell, he wasn't a shy guy. The surveillance was annoying but nothing that really mattered to him much. They could point a thousand cameras at him, hidden or no, and all he'd do is give them a show to remember.

Nah, the cameras didn't bother him, but the red eyes that were no doubt watching him through the one way mirror did. He wanted nothing more than to get his hands on the neck of that red eyed little freak and strangle the life right out of him. Hey, while red eyes were fantastic on his awesome self, the sight of them on that little bastard was sickening. If Prussia ever got the chance he might just tear 'em right out.

Unfortunately, it was all he could do to move at all, his body too weak and fatigued to put up much of a fight against the restraints that kept him bound to the cold metal table. Bright artificial lights illuminated his body, the mirror on the wall giving him a few view of the splendor of his awesomely naked self. Only… it was marginally less awesome than it'd been a year ago. He'd lost weight… his face drawn gaunt and his skin pale and thin looking. Tubes and monitors were stuck into and onto him, a technological spider web that stole his life fluids and reported his status to the assholes who'd caught him a year ago.

To even think that they could use the awesome him as a fucking guinea pig was absurd… and any day now Prussia was going to get loose and show those morons what happened when you took on a Nation, ex or no. Prussia had waged wars… he braved and conquered battlefields! He wasn't going to let some glasses wearing pocket protector clad nerds best him! It'd be like losing a fist fight to Austria… but ten times worse.

He struggled his arms against the restraints again, letting out a growl before a laugh escaped his lips. "Not today… I've decided I don't feel like escaping today… which I absolutely could if I felt like it." The corner of his lip twitched as he laughed, eyes averted to the side. Yeah… he could escape any time he wanted to. He was just waiting for the right moment…

A shallow ghastly wheezing breath caught his attention, and Prussia turned his gaze to the other table in the room. North Italy was strapped to a table, naked and in much the same state as Prussia. There were a few more tubes running to and from the Italian, and a set of precision scars on the Nation's body that made Prussia see red each time he caught a glimpse of them. The Italian looked more like a corpse than a living body, the beeping of the monitors and the Nation's painful wheezing the only obvious signs of life.

"Hey… hey Italy… can you hear me? Wake up, the awesome me is calling for you!" If you wanted to say the bastards who'd captured him had done horrible things to Prussia, then you'd have to say they'd done downright nightmarish atrocities to Veneziano. Their experiment… their fucking experiment… they'd used Veneziano so much more than Prussia. Why not… they actually had a current Nation to use in the form of North Italy… not just a personified has-been.

Still… just as it'd been for the past three months, Veneziano didn't stir, not even slightly. The tests, the harvests… the extractions… they'd sent North Italy into silence, a painful sleep he hadn't woken from at all. Prussia wanted to growl at it all, seeing the adorable Italy suffering and weak like this. Sure he let West hog Italy most of the time… but Prussia held a high level of affection for the auburn haired pasta lover too. Not that he'd admit to such sissy sentiments. "I'll get us out of here Italy… just you wait…" His voice grew louder, shouting out for the benefit of the microphones he knew were hidden in the lab room.

"You hear that assholes? I'm gonna get us out, then I'm going to tear you all apart kesesesese!" Letting his laughter fill the tiny room, Prussia held tightly onto his words, clung tightly to his vow. He'd do it… he'd do it… he just needed to find the strength somehow.

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**Author's Note:**

So… ugh… I wonder if people will like this, or if that giant depress fest turned everyone off with boredom. As much as I like to give America a side that's not 'super happy-go-lucky I can do anything because I'm the hero', it always feels so OOC. In fact, everyone felt that way to me. Curses. I feel like I usually do better.

Anyhow… reviews for this would be lovely. I know that perhaps there's not a lot to work off of… but I'd love to know if people want this to continue. Oh I'll keep posting up chapters regardless… but the feedback would be snazzy.

Next chapter our villains make a formal appearance, and the heart of the story is revealed.

Well, if you got this far… thanks for the read!


	2. Chapter 2

The conference room was just as tense and strained as it'd been yesterday, no, perhaps it was even worse. How could it not be? Though perhaps in the past the absence of a certain Nation may have caused some Nations to relax, to sit back and think 'my, we may actually accomplish something today!', it was much too soon. It was too soon after the other disappearances, and it certainly painted a devastating picture if the worst case scenario had happened. Kidnapped… right at a conference? The implications were staggering… yet… denial seemed the order of the day thus far. No one _wanted_ to believe the worst.

It wasn't their brother that was missing though… so of course _they_ could all rest assured the world was fine. _'No… that shouldn't be so… even if disliked… he still… well he's rather made himself a part of everything and all…'_ An unhappy train of thought was interrupted by a vaguely annoyed voice.

"Well… as America hasn't shown up yet for his presentation… I suppose we'll break early for lunch… perhaps _then_ he'll decide to grace us all with his presence." There was a wave of grumbling that passed over the Nations assembled, more than a few of them highly annoyed by what they had decided to deem an attention tactic by the American _or_ a blatantly rude and disrespectful blunder. All the same, Nations began filing out, breaking off into clusters here and there, chatting away and gossiping and the like.

Canada rose from his seat, brows furrowed in anxious worry. His arms were wrapped tightly around Kumajiro as he started to walk, making his way towards England in the hopes that he could speak with him about his boisterous brother. Though the other Nations could wallow in delusion, Canada could not. Most likely it was because of the disappearance of Prussia and North Italy, but when America hadn't come crashing into the meeting when he actually had a presentation to make… well… it'd worried the more timid northern Nation.

When everyone had first begun to groan and grumble over America missing his presentation time, when calls had been made and his brother's cell phone gone unanswered, Canada had slipped out of the meeting to go and check on his brother personally. It wasn't as though anyone _noticed_ that he left to do so, depressing as that still was. His persistent invisibility was something he supposed he should have gotten used to after all these years… but he didn't want to. He had every right to be noticed; he just needed to find a way to do so. A way that wouldn't get him noticed in a bad way.

Everyone noticed his 'big' brother, after all, and that didn't equate to a good thing.

When he'd gotten to America's hotel room though, he'd received no answer to his knocks. It'd taken quite a bit of time to get one of the staff to notice him and help him (because apparently standing in front of people and addressing them politely was not effective), but when he'd convinced the door opened for him, the sight within had not been encouraging.

No, he'd found no signs of struggle, no ruined room telling of a dastardly bold kidnapping scheme. He hadn't even found the room cleared out, there was no sign that his brother had decided to bail out early. No… the room looked as though America had never returned to it to sleep the night before. His luggage was still there, the bed untouched, and personal belongings no doubt tucked away in the hotel safe. It screamed that America had gone out some time yesterday evening… and simply never returned.

Canada knew America didn't need someone to hold his hand or anything but… but… well, it was his brother. He couldn't help but grow concerned. That was the way it worked, that was part of being 'family'… as dysfunctional as they were.

"U-Umm… England?" The older Nation hadn't left his seat yet, a look of deep vexation and annoyance written across his face. The English Nation looked like he was thinking deeply over something, large brows pulled tight and his lips moving ever so slightly, as if to give shape to the words in his mind. Canada fidgeted, trying to step in his elder's line of sight. "England… umm… hello… England?" He unlatched one arm from Kumajiro, waving his hand before the other. Still no response.

"… not quite right… perhaps I should ask that brother of his… what's his name… hmm… oh yes, Canada… perhaps I should go seek out Canada and ask—" It was only too obvious England hadn't seen him walk right up. There were days Canada thought he should seriously start wearing a bell, see if that might alert people to his presence. He'd only feel foolish over it in the end no doubt, and it was only a futile musing that grew from moments such as this.

"Ah… um… England!" Canada raised his voice as he became the subject of the elder's muttered ramblings, hoping that the stars and planets would align to get him noticed. England gave a start in his chair, jolting and blinking up in shock at Canada. Canada gave him a rather despairing smile. _'Such is my life, I suppose…'_

"Aha! Canada, perfect! I was just about to seek you out, wonderful timing… have a seat." Complying, the Canadian eased himself into the vacated meeting chair beside the elder Nation, peering at him from beneath his glasses. England did indeed seem agitated, which wasn't terribly unusual. Especially if America was doing something foolish.

Waiting for the other Nation to start speaking, Canada was able to quietly observe him. England seemed a bit flustered, as if he wasn't certain how to begin. _'Strange… there are only certain topics that England hesitates to speak on.'_ Canada wouldn't rush him if possible… but the sooner the Englishman composed his words the better. Until then, Canada continued his surveillance, dread pooling deeper in his stomach. It was as if every flustered moment by England was a confirmation of the worst.

"Has… has America said anything… strange to you of late?" The elder Nation turned piercing green eyes upon Canada, almost making him flinch. The scrutiny behind that look was intense, too intense for casual inquiries. Frowning slightly, Canada gave a meek grin.

"We are talking about America…" He said, hating to point out the obvious. Much as Canada did indeed love his brother… it wasn't a blinding love. While ignoring Canada seemed sadly instinctive by other Nations… ignoring America when he got onto strange tangents was an acquired skill. After all… sometimes those crazy tangents weren't so crazy after all. But they were family, brothers… so Canada thought he could pick the rotten from the ripe well enough. "Could you be… more specific?"

Deep annoyance shot across England's face, and Canada almost rushed out an apology. He didn't want to make the other mad… he wanted to know if England had any idea where America might be! It was terrible, terrifying even, to think that if their conversation ended now, England might never think to consult him about this again. Until it was too late. His fears of England storming away were unwarranted though, for of course England wasn't quite as volatile as that. Not when something mattered.

"It's simply… last night he was gazing at the stars… and he…" England's voice carried so much annoyance it was almost able to mask his genuine concern below it. Canada could hear it though… America wasn't the only one who'd spent time with England as a child. Canada could tell. He also knew what was coming…

"And he wished for a little brother… right?" The hitch in England's breathing told Canada he'd hit the nail right on the head. _'If people would consult me more… they'd understand.'_ Still, his own woes and desires aside, Canada leaned back and hugged Kumajiro close. _'So… America's telling even England this now, eh?'_ For America to touch this sort of subject with _England_ meant his boisterous brother was really depressed.

"Y-Yes… how did you… does he speak of this with you? Often?" It wasn't entirely clear which England was more curious about… the thought of the two brothers having meaningful conversations… or the topic of little brothers being more than just a passing fancy. Canada nodded his head, staring at the table before them vacantly. Vaguely he could see his reflection on the polished surface… it was almost like looking at America… if America could ever be such a faded presence.

"I'm not sure I'd say often… but he does mention it a lot. Sometimes seriously… but mostly as a joke, you know? He hates being so serious… he hates to settle down and let his insecurities out." His brother, by habit and in self defense, had done a wonderful job trapping himself into such a one dimensional image. The hero, always full of energy and life, happy to a fault and blissfully unable to read the atmosphere. Canada's violet eyes flickered to England, who looked a bit morose, perhaps embarrassed.

"I… know…" It was almost like a whispered confession coming from England's lips. "I know there's more to that git than he lets on… I know he understands… _I did raise him_… after all." The elder nation shook his head, fumbling for what to ask next. "But… I mean… truly… it's nonsense! America has a family! He has you! He h-has me!" Oh the red flush on his face showed just how difficult that admission had been. "There's no reason to lament the lack of a tiny sibling!"

Canada could feel England staring at him, seeking out validation to his words. He didn't turn to meet that gaze though.

"I understand how he feels though…" There was a gasp, incredulous, by England, but Canada's quiet voice forged ahead. "N-Now don't get me wrong… I don't really feel the need for a little brother." Wasn't America _sometimes_ a handful like a tiny child anyway? "I'm happy… I'm content with what I have… even if it isn't much. I… I'm forgotten so often… I'm not sure what I'd do if the little brother I was raising ignored me." The thought was painful, chilling, but it wasn't high on the list of reasons why Canada didn't share America's longing. He finally looked to England.

"I know it isn't much… but a brother who'll play catch with me when he _does_ remember I'm just next door… another who can remember my name _if_ he sees me… and another who's always _sincere_ in his apologies when he mistakes me for America…" He trailed off, thinking of any others he'd consider close enough to be kin. "It's all the family I need. But… I… do know what he's feeling. The sense that we missed out on a vital experience that the rest of you seem to take for granted. It's… well…" He pet the soft fur of Kumajiro's head. "We aren't human… and our lives… our milestones… our rights of passage… what _are_ they?

"We're so young in this world, and yet certain avenues are lost to us because of it. It's a bit… intimidating really… and a bit… disorienting. I'm… ok. I can handle it… but America? Who wants to be everything, save everyone… it's difficult for him to handle. He's always… hated that he lacks a history before his lands were 'discovered'. I wonder if he doesn't want to make sure no other new Nation feels like that."

Trailing off, Canada noticed that England had grown thoughtful, face free of anger at last as he processed Canada's words. A slight smirk came to his lips, his eyes twinkling as he stared at Canada. "I don't think you've ever spoken quite so much to me, perhaps you should speak up more often. It's good to know one of you makes sense when he speaks."

Blushing at the praise, the younger Nation quickly brushed off the urge to say he'd speak more if he'd only be noticed. This wasn't the sort of time for such childish comebacks. Instead he smiled gratefully to England, wondering if perhaps he couldn't find some way to speak with his former guardian a bit more. It'd… well it would be nice. Not completely necessary… but welcome.

"So then… if this is not a new longing… you don't believe he would have… oh I don't know… impulsively hopped a plane and gone off adventuring for a new land or whatnot?" England seemed to know better than to sound even remotely hopeful of the idea. All the warmth of the conversation seemed to die from Canada, who shook his head.

"No… even with Prussia and North Italy disappearing… I don't think he'd rush off to go child Nation finding." Sighing, Canada had to finally admit out loud what he feared. "England, I think whatever happened to Prussia and North Italy… may have happened to America."

Bitterly, England nodded his head. "As do I."

x 0 x 0 x 0 x 0 x 0 x 0 x0 x 0 x 0 x0 x 0 x 0 x0 x 0 x 0 x

The muffled sounds washed over his ears, warped and uneven in volume, disorienting and difficult to understand. It was like being underwater as he lie there, his body feeling heavy yet unsteady. As his mind sluggishly tried to piece things together and swim up towards waking, the thought that maybe he _was_ underwater, or floating upon the sea somewhere seemed entirely possible.

'_Why not?'_ Prussia certainly didn't know where it was he'd been held this past year. All he knew was that it wasn't Germany… and there was a lot of the world that fit that wonderfully vague criterion. Hell… at this point maybe he wasn't even in the world anymore. He was so disoriented it felt as though he were drifting someplace far away where only he and North Italy and these _assholes_ existed.

These assholes and that tiny freak.

"His healing has slowed dramatically… drawing for a transfusion will be difficult…" Prussia was just able to focus enough to make out the words, and for a moment he gave himself a good mental pat on the back for his awesome listening skills.

It was bad enough that something was making him so groggy, but the man speaking had one of those voices that just seemed to drone on and on without any sort of difference in inflection or pitch. It wasn't completely robotic, but it was the sort of voice that screamed 'I'm saying something lame that Prussia doesn't need to listen to.' The fact that he was speaking Italian only added to the number of the Prussian's personal triumphs in his eavesdropping. Prussia couldn't speak every language out there, but Italian was certainly one of the ones he could.

He tried to open his eyes, brows twitching from the effort, his lids moving so slowly he felt like someone had put tar on them. The lights in the room seemed to blind him, his eyes failing to adjust quickly enough to spare him the pain. Maybe he shouldn't stare straight up at the lights above him… yeah, that'd be an awesome idea.

"So he's becoming like specimen one then?" It was another voice, and just as uninteresting as the first. His head starting to clear up a bit, the albino tried to turn his head. Maybe other Nations wouldn't be able to do it when drugged, but of course drugs were no match for him. He was able to tilt his head to the right very slowly, though it made his vision turn and blur for a moment, his stomach twist and clench with nausea.

Sure enough there were a couple of men in white coats, men Prussia had seen before and never for anything good. It curled his insides to think that these men were doing what they were. Treating Veneziano, _their own Nation_ if their language fluency meant anything, like a science experiment? Treating it like a sack of spare parts? It went beyond disrespectful, went beyond traitorous. It was certainly, without a doubt, beyond forgiveness. If not for the effects of the drug Prussia would have been growling, curling his fists in anger.

There weren't only Italian scientists here, oh he knew that. So many people… so many nationalities. It was a regular world gathering of kidnapping bastards. If only Prussia could get up… if he could only regain enough strength to break free… international relations be damned. He'd make everyone here pay. Call it a perk of being an ex-Nation, there was no real way he could start a war, right?

"What should we do? _He_ needs a transfusion… should we attempt to collect the Principality of Seborga?" Prussia frowned as the lab coats continued to chatter to each other. The way they stood over Veneziano like that, as if he were nothing but a culture sample in a Petri dish! It almost distracted Prussia from what they were saying. _'Seborga… that rings a bell…'_

"Absolutely not. If possible we should avoid tainting _him_ with the blood or organs of a micro nation. It could be counterproductive to our goals." With his sight mostly clear, Prussia watched the two scientists continue to lean over the comatose and wheezing Veneziano, looking from monitors to the body of the Nation, reading over charts and scribbling down notes. Prussia tried to pull on his restraints, wanting to physically drag the men away from the ailing North Italy. _'Come on body, move! This is so… not… awesome…'_ He wasn't sure anymore who he was most angry at… this mysterious group who'd caught him… or himself for getting caught. Inexcusable all around.

Movement at the edge of the albino's peripheral vision distracted him, causing to twist his head to the other side sharply. Reaching out towards his face was a tiny hand, the skin pale and soft. The little hand was moving towards his face, slow and reaching, inching closer and closer. Prussia let out a hiss and tried to jerk away, his red eyes shooting from the hand to the face. Shooting to lock with a pair of red eyes the exact same color as his own.

The child's face stared back at him blankly yet tinged with just a hint of curiosity. Soft auburn bangs fell about the cherubic face, a face that Prussia wanted to tear off of that little monster's body. _'How dare you look like him!'_ It was like a slap to the face, this little monster's appearance.

The hand had almost come into contact with his face when he heard the scientists moving, turning about to pay attention to him now. "Well, draw the transfusion from North Italy today anyway… we'll have to prepare Prussia to start giving transfusions agai—no!" Suddenly one of the lab coats was rushing over, grabbing the child roughly and pulling him away from Prussia before contact had been made. The man didn't bother to yell at the child, for as always there was that device on its head. It looked like headphones, and from what Prussia guessed, they blocked out all sound. But the scientist gestured wildly at the child, scolding it for trying to touch the ex-Nation.

The need to get out only grew stronger and stronger, and Prussia locked his eyes on the men as they sat the child next to Italy, as they prepared to rob the comatose Nation of his blood. Prussia strained against his restraints and burned the image of these men and that brat into his mind's eye.

Everyone involved in this… they'd all answer to him. If only he was still strong… if only he hadn't been wasting away on this table for a year! Fatigue washed over him, trying to drag him back down into darkness. As much as Prussia had more than enough legitimate excuses for still being trapped here… his heart wouldn't accept them. Excuses were for the weak, and Prussia was far too badass to be failing like this.

If this was his only other option than being alone… then he'd gladly be alone again. After all, it was so much fun on his own…

* * *

**Author's Note:**

This chapter is a little on the short side… I debated showing some of America's fate, but pushed it back to the next chapter. So… while you got more of a look at our villains, you obviously didn't get their full appearance like I promised. Apparently my author's notes are lies!

As always, reviews are very much appreciated. If you liked something, let me know… if this chapter seemed utterly confusing and disjointed from the first or if everyone is OOC etc etc… I need to know that too. I'm thinking Prussia might end up as the secondary main character but… I'm not sure I portray him well enough for that. I have no inner-Prussia!


	3. Chapter 3

The rocking motion was what woke him first. It was soft and subtle, and not immediately recognizable. Familiar for certain, yet through the slowly lifting haze, America was struggling to connect the pieces. As it was his body felt incredibly heavy, his head aching and throbbing. Thoughts and memories were a jumbled blur of nonsense, his scattered recollections useless to him at the moment. As he opened his eyes, all he could do was mutely take in the scene around him, try to start making sense of the noises pressing around him. He would decipher what was before him, then work out the past.

Though he was on the ground, or the floor of something, he was also surrounded by people. His body was up against a wall, as if to be kept out of the way. The surface of the floor was cold and hard, artificial, clean enough though dirt had found its way in small coatings. The lighting was low, a few antique looking bulbs hanging and swaying from the ceiling overhead. There were no windows to the room he was in, which was narrow and rectangular. Everything seemed seamless and unfurnished, like a massive box. It made him think of a cargo train.

The people that surrounded him were clumped in frightened huddles, exhausted and confused and probably not any better off than he was. Some sat on the ground, groups of all ages. Some held to children, others held to the elderly. It had the strong look of refugees really… and yet… the uncertain fear was perhaps more suited for illegal immigrants being deported. _'So why am I on this… this… am I on something?'_ With a groan America tried to sit up, deciding he needed to know more about where exactly he was.

A voice piped up to his left, louder than the muted conversations of those around him. America turned his head, blue eyes fixed on the man who'd come to crouch down next to him. The Nation blinked for a moment, rubbing his head as he tried to actually figure out what'd been said. When he offered no response, the man questioned him again. America frowned. Now of course, being who he was, the language was _familiar_. There weren't many languages out there he wouldn't have heard before. However… it wasn't one he could speak or understand on his own.

"Uh… hey I uh… shoot… I don't suppose you speak English?" His voice was sheepish, apologetic, and he offered the man the best smile he could muster in the given situation. He was met with a face that pulled tight in lack of understanding, offered a shake of the head. The two just looked rather helplessly at each other. "Thanks anyway?"

The man gave another shrug, patting America on the shoulder before standing and walking away. He seemed to join a cluster of people who spoke his language, and though some looks were cast his way from various members of the group, none made to come towards him. America simply offered anyone who looked a smile, then propped his hand to the ground, preparing to get up. His head still felt a bit dizzy, and his body swayed a bit.

"Whoa, hang on there buddy, let me help you up." Hurried steps rushed over to him, and in seconds a strong hand was held out to America. Turning his blue eyes up, the Nation smiled up into another set, also hidden behind a pair of glasses. The man, probably late forties or so if America had to guess, returned the friendly grin and waited for his hand to be gripped. Once ready he helped to haul America up, giving a bit of a grunt as if he hadn't quite expected the 'youngster' to be so heavy. America stumbled a bit, and the man held on until he'd righted himself properly.

"Hey, thanks," he said, beaming at the man. He'd felt it the moment their hands had connected, but this man was one of his citizens. It helped to ease a few of his worries, and yet it caused an instant restless anger in his heart. Just what was going on, was someone kidnapping his citizens? The man before him didn't look like he'd been harmed. The man was taller than America, wider with a gut that'd grown from age. The man looked strong, just the sort you'd imagine to work on old trucks and sit around and watch football with the good old boys. His brown hair had lightened, was peppering with white, but he still looked alive and strong.

"No problem, son. I heard you speak up in English, thought you might appreciate another fellah to talk to." He gestured about the room, motioning towards all the people around them with a soft whistle. "It's a real multicultural circus in here, I don't think I've ever heard so many languages in one spot before."

America frowned, rubbing at his head and peering around him. This man… he seemed to be the only one of his citizens that he could feel in the room. He vaguely wondered if any of England or Canada's citizens were trapped in here. "So… probably a stupid question… but what happened? What's going on?" He didn't like fooling his citizens, but it was a necessity for a Nation. You couldn't confess to just any of them that you were the embodiment of their country.

The man shook his head though, crossing his arms across his broad chest. "Can't say I know… woke up in here pretty much like you did. From what I've seen, it's been the same with everyone else. One minute I was heading for my truck, leaving a convenience store, then it all went dark, I end up here." The man shook his head, a deep frown passing over his features before he seemed to shake it off. "Oh hell, my name's Bill. Shoulda said so sooner. What's your name son?"

America flashed a smile, reaching out to shake hands with Bill. "Alfred, nice to meet you… even if it's like this…"

Bill laughed at him, giving America's hand a good shake while his eyes swept over the Nation. "Al, huh? Bit of an old name for a kid like you."

America feigned hurt, puffing up his chest and trying to sculpt his features into a more mature expression. "I'm older than I look ya know." How true those words.

Bill seemed less than convinced, humming deeply in the back of his throat. "Mmmhmm… I see you walk into a bar, I wouldn't sell ya a drink, that's for sure."

America laughed, and though the two seemed happy to have the mood lightened somewhat, the reality of their situation still lingered like a foul stench. You could grow used to it in a sense, but it was always there, always unpleasant. America shoved his hands in his pockets, looking around. "You have any idea what we're in? Seems like we're moving…"

Bill scratched at his head, nodding. "Yeah… I'm not sure. I'd almost guess a train maybe? Hard to tell. Just glad I don't get motion sick. There seems to be a bathroom over in that corner over there but… hell, if we're all stuck in here too much longer things are going to get real ripe in here."

America shuddered at the thought, adjusting Texas on his nose and running his hand over the wall. Indeed he could feel the tremors and vibrations, but it was difficult to discern much else. A train… a truck… a boat… hell, he could have been on a rocket for all he knew! He closed his eyes and tried to sense it, tried to reach out and connect with his land to get his bearings. As the seconds passed by his heart started to race a bit, a sinking swirling sensation gripping his gut.

He couldn't feel it… he couldn't feel his land… his people! He reached out with his senses, and all he could find was Bill, all he could ground himself to was this one citizen standing next to him. His breathing picked up and he started to panic. Never had he felt completely disconnected from his country before. It was as if he'd had his hearing or sight suddenly snatched from him. He felt dizzy, unsteady; it was like a never ending sense of falling.

He suddenly realized he almost _had_ fallen, in a literal sense, as Bill gripped onto his arms and shoulders tightly. "Hang on there Al, you ok? Calm down, breathe in deep for me…"

America tried to listen, tried to do as he was told. When the hole where his people and land should be became too painful to bear, he stopped reaching, stopped trying to connect to anything but Bill. The man's presence was like a second heartbeat to him, an even pulse to calm his nerves. The man had no idea how much he was helping America here, how much he was supporting him. America was determined, if ever he had the chance, to repay this man in some way. Hero's honor.

Gulping deeply, he smiled at the man and stood up straighter. He felt a bit shaky, a little pale, but otherwise could stand on his own. "Thanks," he said, genuinely grateful, and got a nod in return back. He scratched at the back of his head, looking about. A few people had seemed concerned by his panic episode, but kept to themselves in their tight clusters. _'Ok America… get a grip. You're the hero, right? Right. You need to figure this out… get these people out… and… and if there's a villain you need to stop them.'_

Thoughts were starting to connect in his head, wondering if perhaps whoever had caught him were also responsible for catching Prussia and North Italy. It was highly possible, and America was determined to find out. Looking about at the walls, he frowned. "So… there are bathrooms you said, but what about a door? Whoever did this had to load us in somehow…"

"Over here," Bill said, guiding America through the crowd to the other side of the room. There appeared to be a sliding door, shut tight and bolted. America reached out, gave it a gentle tug and a jiggle. _'I could… I could tear this open.'_ He let his hand run over the metal of the door, wondering if he couldn't just punch through it. It was difficult to tell how thick it was.

"No way is it gonna budge, bunch of fellahs and I gave it a good go before you woke up, didn't budge an inch." He looked ruefully at America, shaking his head as they locked eyes. America bit his lip, biting back his comments. He wanted… _needed_… to set these people free… but he couldn't do something so suspicious. If a group of them had made an effort to open the door and failed, then there weren't really any excuses he could give for being able to rip the thing open on his own. He considered trying to rouse everyone up to try again, sneak his strength in behind all of theirs… but the look of the people spoke of those who'd given up.

It pained America to see despair in the eyes of others, his citizens or no. He was a Nation that thrived on hope and idealism, and to feel anyone giving up on that made him ache. What could he do? How could he rally everyone together? He was just about to shout out, start talking up a storm with a hero speech like he did at most meetings, but Bill's hand on his shoulder stopped him. He blinked at the other man, who offered him a smile.

"Come on, lets go have a seat… this thing has to stop some time." An internal debate raged in America, not wanting to pass up this chance to rally hope and optimism into those who needed it most. However, a bit belatedly he realized that perhaps most of the people here wouldn't even understand him. English was wide spread, but hell; he was scolded enough for always assuming people knew it.

"… yeah… you're right…" America started to follow, trying to force his mind down another path. If saving everyone right now wasn't an option, then maybe once they'd stopped… he could work out a plan of action then. Trying to distract himself from the worry that gnawed at his gut, America started to ramble on excitedly to Bill, talking about things from hamburgers to football (American of course) and the latest movie releases. If there was one thing he could take comfort in, and truly there wasn't much here, it was that he was the only Nation in this little compartment. Hopefully that meant others like England and Canada were still safe.

o x o x o x o x

The rumbling and shaking sensation stopped, and everyone in the room grew suddenly alert and anxious. This meant, so far as any of them could tell, that they'd stopped moving. America all but jumped to his feet, rigidly alert and already striding towards the door despite Bill's protests behind him. His adrenaline started to pump through his veins fiercely as he shouldered his way to the very front of the group, his protective instincts surging strong. If they were stopped then no doubt the doors would be opening… and finally America would (hopefully) come face to face with his captor (or captors, he couldn't tell).

He thought he could vaguely sense another Nation somewhere, but it was a dim sense, too faint for him to recognize. _'If another Nation is responsible for this…'_ The very thought made his blood boil, and he shoved Texas up the bridge of his nose in frustration. It wasn't easy to take down a Nation, oh not at all, so of course there was a high chance one of his own kind had been responsible for this, even if he didn't want to believe it. He couldn't feel any of them though… and he wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt. Even Russia wasn't pulling this sort of stunt… not anymore anyway…

The sound of locks and bolts being undone rang out sharply, and everyone in the room fell mute. A collective breath was held as everyone watched the door slide open, bodies tensing in expectation. America felt his hands ball into fists, ready to fly off the handle and charge the first person he saw.

This would be impossible, he realized with a baffled start, as the door slid open to reveal not a soul in sight. Apparently the locks had been undone remotely, released electronically. A murmuring of languages flooded behind him as people absorbed the situation.

"What the hell?" Bill was at his side, squinting into the long hallway… the long _empty_ hallway before them. It was nondescript, plain. It was the sort of hall you'd imagine in a medical facility or, perhaps, a jail. Sickly lights illuminated it, yet the silence that echoed through it was broken only by those in the room. No one moved past the door, peering out yet afraid to take that first step into the unknown. America decided to be the first to check it out, and had taken a step when the crackle of static over a loudspeaker filled the air. People flinched and started to look about wildly.

In a myriad of languages, a simple message was broadcast. The statement would be said in one language, then a moment later repeated in another. It continued on and on, working to communicate with everyone present.

"_Please exit and proceed down the hallway."_

Narrowing his eyes, America looked sideways to Bill. The man looked grim but could only shrug. Slowly, the kidnapped passengers started to amble forward. America did the same, working to stay at the front of the pack, eyes scouting for any sort of twisted danger lurking ahead. As they all trickled down the hall, the only thing that came into focus was a large set of double doors, opened wide to a room casting out a very bright light and a muffled symphony of noises.

When the crowd reached the room, which seemed nothing more than a large warehouse sort of space, more murmurs of fear and confusion passed over them. All along one of the walls was a series of television sets. Though the individual portrayed in each varied, subtitles were displayed as the figure on screen preached and stated a message. America wandered, staring at the screens and looking for one in English. Voices overlapped each other, but with the subtitles the broadcast was all too clear. America stood and watched, his eyes widening for each moment he heard the message.

"The fucking hell is this shit?" At his side, Bill was outraged, and he certainly wasn't the only one. People of all nationalities started to shout, no doubt shocked and angry at the statements filling the screens and speakers. America could feel anger running through him as well, but for him… this message was deathly personal. As he listened a chill seemed to grip at his heart, squeezing it like a vice as it robbed him of warmth. "This is… this is… fucking radical terrorist bullshit!"

As much as it helped America to be standing next to such a patriotic citizen, he couldn't settle his pulse. _'You're the hero America! Get a grip!'_ But this… all of this… if this group was for real, those he cared about deeply could be in danger! He listened intently, for once defying what the other Nations thought of him as he focused all of his attention on understanding everything exactly right.

"… _ever trapped in the cycle of war, strung along by governments with only their own interests at heart… to achieve true peace, all that we know must be torn asunder! The sacrifices will be great, but we must all suffer these wounds if we would heal the world, if we would make it truly whole! One world… one culture… one family of man, all under a single banner! In unity, in solidarity, in uniformity lies true world peace!"_

Despite it all, despite his bravado, America couldn't help but shiver. The words on the screen made him ill, made his stomach churn. Despite the fact that many people and nations had accused his own citizens of something like this, of trying to spread his culture and shape the rest of the world to be just like him, America and his people were _not_ out to do something like _this_! This… this… this was just insane! Who in their right mind would embrace something like this?

"Sick bastards…" He looked over at Bill, nodding his head and strangely unable to find any words to offer. The whole situation was becoming worse by the minute. These people… their sentiments were dangerous alone… if they really were connected to the disappearance of Prussia and North Italy, then their threat level was even higher. They knew _too much_ if that was the case.

'_Well… I don't know why they went after me next, but they made a big mistake!'_ Guessing that they probably feared what America would do if he caught proper wind of their plans, they'd come after him. Were trying to neutralize him. Well, they were in for a big surprise then! Sure, America was reluctant to compromise who and what he was in front of all these people, but if he had to… he certainly would! Perhaps this kidnapping wasn't such a dire event after all. Maybe he could turn it around to his advantage!

Bolstering his spirits, America jolted when there was a loud slamming sound. The doors the group had filtered in through slammed shut, sealing them all into this very massive room. People shouted and jostled about in angry protest, in unfocused fear and anxiousness. America flicked his eyes about, trying to look for any of their captors. Nothing else seemed to happen for a long while, as if they were all being given proper time to listen to the looping message on the screens.

That message ended abruptly however, as suddenly they all flashed away from the speakers to a still screen of text, telling no one to approach the doors that would soon be opening. America looked to Bill, both men nodding. They sure as hell weren't about to listen to that message. Locating the doors that started to open on the opposite end of the room, the two Americans started to make their way over, men and women of other races doing the same. No one wanted to continue playing this game, no one wanted to blindly obey these madmen.

The armed soldiers that were revealed by the opening doors, however, gave everyone pause. Even America had to stop, staring at the gun toting individuals, masked and covered in full riot gear and body armor. Not a single one of them was one of his citizens. He couldn't reach out to them, but at the same time it was good to see he wasn't being betrayed. However, he had a sinking suspicious that some of his people were in this group of terrorist as well.

Unfortunately, while he knew guns couldn't kill him like this, he'd again be in a bind if he was shot in front of all these humans. Concealing his true nature was becoming an infuriating hindrance. _'One I bet they've been counting on.' _It was like an invisible muzzle, and all the other Nations knew how well America reacted to being restrained at all.

The men with the guns barked at the crowd, gesturing with their firearms to keep everyone back and away. The kidnapped victims shouted yet stayed back, stuck playing this game of obedience. One man tried to push the limits, and the gunmen wasted no time in firing warning shots at him. America tensed. Identity be damned, he wouldn't let anyone get shot!

Before it came down to that, however, another figure could be seen walking towards the room. No, not one, two. One was a man in a white lab coat, and the other was a tiny child, walking at his side and holding his hand. The child wore plain white clothes, like a set of pajamas or medical scrubs. The only 'decoration' on them was a black circle on the front of the shirt that looked as though it'd been painted with a calligraphy brush in one stroke. The child followed the man in the lab looking nervous and shy.

The child was brought in front of the gunmen, his escort crouching down to remove a strange set of earphones. Though it tried to hide it was shoved forward, pushed ahead as if it was supposed to join the kidnapped victims. Some people shouted and continued to speak but a strange quiet was falling over the crowd. People were confused by this turn of events, baffled by the sudden appearance of this tiny child who didn't look like he was any older than five years old. Auburn hair fell about his ears, and a pair of red eyes peered out at the crowd, looking at everyone assembled with fear and curiosity.

America's jaw dropped open, a strange fluttering sensation overtaking his heart. As his blue eyes peered at the child, it seemed like everything else seemed to dim and fade away. The people around him, even the guards, everything else started to feel rather secondary. A strange emotion… a strange instinct was starting to fill him, grasping at his heart. All the emotions of his longing started to assail his senses, the ache he'd lamented to England just before his capture returning full force. He didn't even realize he did it, but soon enough his senses were stretching, examining this child.

The Nation he'd sensed… it was this…?

As the realization seemed to grip him, he found curious red eyes staring into his own. As if searching and seeking, the little one gazed at America. Tiny feet began to carry him forward, and though other people from the kidnapped group approached him, questioned him, he seemed to ignore them all. His feet were taking him straight to America, and without even thinking the Nation took a knee, waiting for the little one to reach him.

The humans all took a step back, uncertain of the situation. Bill questioned Alfred, but fell silent as well when he gained no response. It wasn't that America wanted to ignore his citizen… he just couldn't help it. The pull he felt to this child, the longing and need to nurture and protect it… it was almost suffocating. He'd never felt anything so powerful. Even his never ending urge to be the world's hero seemed to pale in comparison at the moment.

The little child stopped, standing in front of him, gazing up at him with wide curious eyes. Vaguely America wondered if this was how he'd looked at England, if this was how England had felt when they'd met. His mouth felt horribly dry, but America tried to speak anyway. "Hey there little guy… what's… what's your name?" America knew all too well, much to his personal chagrin and embarrassment, that while a Nation wasn't always born knowing much of their history, they _did_ know their name. It was the one thing a Nation knew without error.

The child blinked at him owlishly, neither moving nor responding. America frowned, wondering if perhaps the child didn't speak English. He didn't seem to be responding to any of the other languages in the room though… had he been raised without hearing anyone speak at all? Closing his eyes, America knew _one_ language that this child would know if he was truly a Nation. _'Well… not so much a language… but…'_

It wasn't as though being a Nation gave them the ability to speak every language on the planet. They weren't born knowing them all, nor were languages suddenly 'added' into their minds when they were newly developed and formed. However… they all _could_ communicate with each other. It was a certain tone they could add to their voice, a certain pitch that was virtually beyond detection. But it was vital, it was important… it transcended languages and let the Nations speak to each other. It was no doubt how America had been able to understand both England and France when they set foot on his lands…

… and perhaps… perhaps… it would let this little one understand him.

Clearing his throat, America spoke again. His words were in English as before, but this time… this time he addressed the child as he would a Nation. "Hey little guy… can you understand me?"

The sudden light that filled the child's eyes made America's heart skip a beat, but his stomach lurch as well. Dread pooled in his gut, but the sudden joy on the little one was drowning it out. The child took another step forward, a smile on his face as he reached out a tiny hand to America. Staring at exactly what he'd been yearning for, America went against his better judgment and reached out as well, taking the tiny hand in his own.

A dizzying warmth spread between the two, and in moments America had picked up the child and wrapped him in his arms. As the little one held to him, America could feel it… he could feel the bond between him and this little one forming already. It was amazing to be on the other side of it, even if it filled him with nostalgia. His eyes stung bitterly as his earliest memories with England filled his mind, and again his heart was torn between this newfound joy and a crushing sense of foreboding.

Cradling the child, holding him close, America failed to see the scientist that'd escorted the child out taking careful notes, didn't see the quiet observations he'd made into a tiny Bluetooth device at his ear. The bond of brothers had been formed, and through it all, America could already feel a change within him.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Finally getting towards more of the heart of this tale. It is labeled as 'family' for a reason and all.

You get to see some of my own interpretations of things in here, like how the Nations can all communicate with each other with no problem. I considered a special language, but thought this made them really stand out a bit more as not human. Not cannon I know, but so it goes.

Reviews are always grand; hope people are enjoying this fic so far.


	4. Chapter 4

Holding the child close, America almost didn't notice when the scientist and some armed soldiers began to make their steady way towards him. Nothing seemed to matter or exist for him in this moment other than the tiny form held tenderly in his arms. The warmth that passed between them, the soft feel of tiny hands clinging to him… these things filled America's senses. These things made his heart beat just a bit harder, made him feel full of a happiness he could hardly define or compare to anything else. This tiny little child, just in the few moments together, soothed away the ache inside him.

"Alfred… hey Al!" It was Bill's voice that reached him, his citizen's worry and distress that caused him to look up at last. He saw his captors standing over him, guns drawn and pointed at him. He felt his lips curl back, a defensive snarl silent on his lips as his eyes raged with a protective fury at his enemies. It was irrational, how very strong the desire to shelter this child was, but when was America ever considered the most rational and even headed of the Nations anyway? The need to save the day tugged at his senses, ever present and just beneath his feelings for this kid.

"Get up," the one in the lab coat demanded, voiced clipped and difficult to understand through whatever accent laced the words. America scowled and made no attempts to move. It was a stare down, one that had guns pushed closer to him. America wrapped his arms more tightly around the bundle in his arms, ready to shield it with his body if it came down to it. He rose, but not to comply with their demands. It was simply stupid to remain hunched on the ground when in a dangerous situation like this. He needed his feet so that he could move if need be. He took a step away, much to the annoyance of the scientist.

"You will come with us now." America shook his head slowly.

"I don't think so buddy. I want you to send us all home… I want some answers." America was answered with a sneer. The child in his arms shifted, and America flicked his eyes down for a moment. It was a strange look the little one was giving him, a questioning look. The child wasn't scared… and America tried not to frown. _'Of course he'd trust them, if they've been raising him.'_ At the very least he knew they hadn't been abusing the tiny Nation in his arms. _'Unless they've really messed him up to where he doesn't even know what they did was wrong…'_ That thought had him seeing red for a moment, and it only got worse when the guns all moved.

No longer were they pointed at him. With just a gesture the scientist had the armed men aim at the innocent civilians all around them. Gasps, outraged words, and a fearful shifting of bodies passed around him, the crowd jumbling about as they tried to avoid having a gun aimed directly at them. America scowled but froze. Not only were they aiming at innocents now, innocent and fragile _humans_, but they'd purposely targeted Bill. _His_ citizen. The look the scientist tossed him spoke of intimate knowledge, of focus.

"I think you will listen to us, if you are not wishing for anyone here to be hurt. Believe me when I say we will not hesitate to fire. You decide now. Will this be easy? Do you come with me? Or do you make this very difficult?" America swallowed down his rage. No matter how much he wanted to rip the guns away, he knew he couldn't do it. There was no way he'd get all the guns before someone would lose their life. Bill was of course a priority, what Nation wouldn't put their own citizens first? But America was a hero… _any_ innocent deaths were not tolerable. Grinding his teeth, he nodded his head. He'd do what he was told for now, he had to keep these people safe.

"Al, no! You can't go with them!" Bill took a step forward, swatting at the gun pointed at him. America could feel it swelling off of his citizen, the patriotic need to protect his country. Bill couldn't have understood the situation, but it didn't stop the human from wanting to risk his life for his Nation. America was warmed by the feeling, comforted by the devout patriotism the man radiated. There were days Alfred feared his citizens had lost this spirit.

Silently he thanked Bill, but tried to send reassuring thoughts to him. He locked eyes with the man, holding his gaze firmly. As much as his citizen wanted to protect him, it was Alfred's duty to protect the human as well. _'It'll be ok… I'll be ok… stay safe…'_ He tried to will Bill to back down for now. His citizens were a strong willed lot, not always compliant to influence like this, but Alfred let out a tiny breath when the human started to back down. Flashing a Hollywood smile, Alfred nodded at the man. "I'll be ok… just stay safe, ok?"

Bill nodded slowly, a grim smile offered to America. "You do the same… we'll get out of this together. No man left behind, right?"

America gave a smart nod of the head. "Right." Turning to look at the scientist, his mood dropped again at the unmasked look of disdain and disgust the man wore.

"If you are done with _that_, then come on." The scientist turned on his heel and started to walk away. America followed; glancing back over his shoulder as if to make certain the gunmen wouldn't suddenly break their deal and start firing. He was out of the room and in the hall when the sound of the doors slamming forced him to spin back around. The gunmen were all following, and as America hadn't heard any shots fired, he allowed a small sense of relief to fill him. That was one worry down for now… just about a thousand new ones up to take its place.

The scientist seemed to have no inclination to speak to him as he was lead about, and that was fine with the Nation. He was more interested in the auburn haired bundle in his arms. Those red eyes stared at America with utter fascination, curiosity, and joy. It was as though he'd absolutely made this child's day simply by showing up. _'Were you lonely little guy? Have you been all here all this time? Only these jerks to talk to?'_ He'd have to ask the child later, if he ever got a moment to.

America stopped abruptly on their walk as they were passing a sealed set of double doors, armed men flanking both sides. Something inside him seemed to shout at him, instinct trying to get his attention. He stared at the doors, scowling behind Texas at them as he sought to understand what he was feeling. It was dim… but… but…

The tiny hand of the child in his arms tugged at his shirt, the little one perking up and pointing towards the doors. America blinked at the child, wishing it would speak. All it did was point vigorously, uttering small sounds that sounded more like tiny little whines than anything else. America stepped slightly closer to the doors, which earned him a prod in the back from a rifle. He frowned at the gunman, then turned his eyes to the scientist. The man leveled a cool stare at him, observing him, always observing.

"Do you… do you have more hostages back there?" Not wanting to give himself away (though almost certain the scientist already knew what he was), America remained vague. "More hostages like _me_ back there?"

The human in the lab coat merely sniffed and smirked. "Now is not the time, later." With that the human began to walk once more, and America was suddenly sure of it. Prussia and North Italy! They had to be here! America's mind started to race. Were all the gunmen from before here with him? He could certainly survive some gunshot wounds… could he take everyone here out… then burst in and save the missing Nation and Ex-Nation? Take the little one out of here? Rush back and save Bill and all the other kidnapped humans?

He was so very close to giving it a shot when the scientist spoke up, not bothering to look back. "Follow or things are difficult." The threat was crystal clear. America tried to think up a plan B. If only things could be like his movies, with convenient opportunities presenting themselves right and left? Where was a good perfectly timed explosive distraction when a guy really needed one? Not hear apparently. He kept on thinking furiously.

Nothing came to mind before he was at last brought to his final destination, which seemed to be a cell. Oh it wasn't a dirty prison cell. By all standards it was a very comfortable if not barren sort of affair. A simple double bed, a sink and a toilet, an armchair was even there with a lamp. The walls looked thick, and America wondered if they were strong enough to withstand him if he pounded on them repeatedly. There looked to be notebooks and crayons provided as well. Confused, he stepped inside as he was told.

"Hey, so what's going on? Hey! You can't just leave me in here like this!" That seemed to be exactly what the scientist had in mind however. The door started to close, and America raced forward, kicking at it since his arms were still holding to the child. The little one watched all this in silence, taking it all in without understanding anything. "Let me out of here!" America's shout was answered when an intercom buzzed.

"Take care of him. Your progress will be monitored." And that was that. America shook his head, not understanding this at all. He growled in frustration, hating himself for getting caught in the first place. Hating that he hadn't proven to be a hero at all yet. He backed up, plopping down to sit on the bed. The little one squirmed in his arms, moving to sit across the Nation's lap more comfortably. America sighed loudly before he looked down at the child, giving it a soft endearing smile.

"What in the world am I going to do now?" He asked, the rhetoric lost on the innocent mind. The child simply reached up to tug Texas off his face, peering through the lenses curiously. America welcomed the adorable distraction for now, gently tugging the frames away lest the kid ruin its eyes.

. o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

Too many days, far too many days had passed to call it an act any longer. Too much time with no contact made it crystal clear that America's disappearance wasn't some sort of attention grabbing prank. The Nations of the world assembled once more, an emergency meeting. England stood at the head of the table, a worried Canada standing at his side unseen. He slammed his hand down on the table, green eyes sweeping over all those present as if daring any of them to speak out of turn.

"America is missing; we must begin searching for him at once!" There was a murmur that raced through the room, a tense mixture of emotions expressed throughout those present. Much as some would be happy to have America gone, out of the way, or at the very least permanently out of sight… _this_ wasn't the way for it to happen. America was no tiny Nation, he was no easy target, and his recent troubles aside, he wasn't a Nation on the brink of destruction.

The disappearance of Prussia… they'd tried to explain it away as inevitable.

The disappearance of North Italy… much harder to ignore, but explained away as plausible.

The disappearance of America…? No one quite had an easy answer to offer for this one. Perhaps if America had been losing a war on his own soil… perhaps if natural disasters had suddenly torn his cities apart… if only there was _something_ that could be pointed to. There wasn't though… and that horrible tension and sorrow that'd been weighing all the Nations down only seemed to grow heavier. Another one of them… gone… just like that. Who would be next? Were they all doomed?

England slapped the table again, trying to gain order and break the Nations gathered from the dark mood he'd seen possessing them. Oh certainly there were some Nations who _still_ didn't seem terribly concerned about what was happening, but regardless… this was a matter of great importance. Nations were going missing… it needed to stop. And… "We need to begin searching for him immediately! If any of you have _any_ ideas where he may be…" England couldn't help it. His eyes shot to Russia, his scowl meeting Russia's placid smile. Certainly American and Russian relations were not anything like they'd been in the Cold War days… but Russia always seemed to be the likely candidate somehow. The violet eyed Nation didn't react to his gaze at all, and England continued.

"If you have any ideas, please come forward immediately. I know America is intolerable most times, however I'm certain we can all agree that this matter is not completely about him. We could all be in danger… we must move. We must—"

England's speech, which had been growing rather passionate due to his concern over his former colony, was suddenly interrupted by a harsh laugh. All eyes in the room shot instantly towards the source of it. Romano, correction… _Italy_… had left his seat, standing at his place at the table. His body doubled over in his laughter for a moment, a cold cruel sneer painted on his lips as scathing mocking laughs shook his body. Some Nations fidgeted, but no one quite knew what to do at the moment, stunned into silence.

Romano laughed some more before straightening; glaring daggers at England once he'd regained his senses a bit. He slammed one hand down on the table before pointing viciously at England. "Oh of course! Now you demand the world be serious… now you demand an all out search!" More hateful laughter spilled from Romano's lips, tears hitting the corners of his furious eyes. "If you really thought this was all so important _you never would have stopped looking for Veneziano!_" The utter venom and hurt in Romano's voice all but stabbed into England's chest, the Nation taking a physical step back.

"Now wait just a moment… we all searched very hard for your brother… all of us pooled our resources to do so! But in the face of our search results we could only conclude that—" Once more England was cut off by a raging Italian, his attempts to reason with the other only seeming to add fuel to the fire.

"Fuck your conclusions! My brother isn't dead! I told you again and again, I'll tell you bastards again and again! He's not dead! He's not dead! So we should still be fucking looking for him!" The strain of it all had been piling up on Romano, more and more. His temper had finally snapped, and in near hysterics he was unleashing the torrent of emotions he'd been forced to bottle up.

Spain was at his side in moments, reaching out cautiously to comfort the Italian. "Now now, settle down Italy…"

Romano turned on Spain in a flash, all but baring his teeth at the other. "Don't call me that! Don't _you_ fucking call me that!" Spain winced, noticing his mistake just moments too late. He of all Nations knew that Romano hadn't given up hope that Veneziano was alive. Spain sat with the Italian many nights, as many as he could, as many as he was allowed. He sat and listened to Romano's words, his rants. When the Italian took to wandering his streets, his lands, and the lands of others, Spain went with him. Veneziano was still alive in Romano's heart, even if he couldn't find him.

Romano had calmed a bit though, allowing Spain to put a hand on his shoulder as he kept his eyes locked with England. Neither side was backing down from the other. "You know what bastards? Go ahead. Search for America. I'll even help you!" A sneer fell over Romano's face, ugly and bitter. "And then, as the days and months go by I'll watch you… watch as you despair when others stop helping you. Watch as you try to insist that America is fine, that with just a little more time he'll be found! I'll watch as your hope turns into something else, watch as you're left alone… the only one who thinks the search should go on. The only one left who _knows his brother is still alive and in trouble!_"

An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Some Nations wished to speak up, tired of this nonsense, wishing to get to some sort of business or be allowed to leave. Some were indifferent to this all, almost sickened by this display. The Nations assembled fell on various sides, various biases, but none spoke up. None seemed willing to interrupt this showdown between England and Romano. England straightened up, holding his head high. He would not allow Romano's words to affect him, especially not right now in front of the World. It didn't matter that they cut deeply, didn't matter at all. Only one thing was important.

"Thank you then," England said, arrogance rolling off him like a shield. "I will appreciate your aid in searching for America." He purposely refused to address the rest of Romano's words. Part of him very much wanted to apologize, or even suggest that they search for North Italy while they search for America, but his pride wouldn't allow it. He looked like a bit of a bastard for it, but he could rationalize it. Besides… it was likely finding America would lead them to North Italy if that Nation was indeed still alive.

"Bastard…" Romano grumbled, before seeming to lose all of his strength. Spain caught him in his arms, tossing a glare at England before ushering the Italian out of the meeting. There was no reason for him to stay. As the Nations left the room, Romano's voice could still be heard, muttering the same phrase over and over again. "They're killing him by calling me Italy… they're killing him by calling me Italy…" Spain's quiet sounds of comfort accompanied the fading voice away.

Clearing his throat, England looked around at those still present. Almost mechanically he began outlining his thoughts for the search, expressing the basic needs that he would seek aid for. Honestly… he sympathized with Romano more than words could express. Though the 'brotherly' relationship between America and him had seemed to fail, that didn't mean England could ever stop feeling protective of the other. Could never completely stop caring. It was this ever present worry that forced him to act this way… anything to make certain others would act now.

No one mentioned Romano and his outburst again, but Germany's eyes had never left the door the Italian and Spaniard exited through. Cold blue stared, seemingly without life, seemingly without hope, yet there was the hint of thought behind them.

* * *

**A/N:**

So… I suppose sorry if anyone thought Romano or England were being a bit too mean or anything this chapter. But, they're both missing family, and poor Romano… this has been building since his brother's disappearance of course!

Sorry this took so long to get out. I'm also sorry there was no Prussia in this decidedly unawesome chapter. I promise he'll be seen again soon!

Reviews are always appreciated, thanks to those who send them!


	5. Chapter 5

He could feel the fever stealing over his skin, hot and clammy and sending waves of heat and cold over his body in unwelcome intervals. It was totally unawesome, and something he hadn't really experienced since he was a true Nation. In the strange state of existence he'd adopted to survive, there had been many things Prussia hadn't missed. Suffering fevers and illness when his country suffered was one of those things he was happy he didn't have to deal with anymore. True, he hated watching his little brother deal with it all… but who in their right mind enjoyed being sick?

It didn't matter that some people liked to say he was crazy, Prussia knew better. They confused his overwhelming awesome with madness, poor deluded fools.

Right now though… right now he felt like maybe he was the delusional one. He could barely breathe, and if he wasn't careful he knew his swimming cloudy vision could probably turn to hallucinations easily enough. Perhaps some lesser Nations or humans would fall for it, but not him! He'd stayed strong this long… he'd tough it out as long as he had to. He was fucking _Prussia_ after all! Unbreakable, those assholes had no idea!

They had been taking more and more blood transfusions from him, however, and Prussia knew that had to be why he was so damn weak right now. He seriously felt like nothing more than a husk, sandpaper stretched over brittle bones topped with strings for hair. Every beat of his heart felt like it shook and rattled his ribs and chest, painful yet so very necessary. He wouldn't moan though, he wouldn't cry, he wouldn't whimper or beg or anything disgraceful as that. He was beyond and better than that, and he was probably blowing all sorts of fucking world records and shit. If… there were world records for… whatever was being done to him.

"Damn it… pull it together…" He grit his teeth together, his gums feeling sore and almost itchy. Still, it provided enough distraction for the ex-Nation to focus with. His lungs scraped in grabs of air as he scowled up at the white sterile world that'd plagued his senses for over a year. Focusing his bleary mind as well as he could, Prussia tried to focus on what he'd felt the other day (week, month? Shit, he didn't know the passage of time anymore!). It'd been faint, maybe because of distance or maybe because Prussia was _slightly_ off his game (not weak! Just… ya know… not quite as awesome as usual), but he'd swear he'd felt another Nation nearby recently.

Unfortunately, he hadn't been able to pinpoint which one it'd been exactly… but he was sure he'd felt someone else. He would have shouted to them, if he'd thought his voice would carry. But still, as fucking awesome as he was, if he could sense _them_ in the state _he_ was in… then it stood to reason that _they_ had to have noticed _him_ easily! Unless they were someone stupid and dense and unobservant like America or something.

The thought rolled around in Prussia's head for a moment, before he let out a sigh. "Well hell… that might explain why they didn't come in here to get us…" Prussia might not be the _most_ popular (ex)Nation around… but surely no one wanted him to just disappear, right? No one would know he was missing and then just not come to investigate if they felt his presence, right? Surely it had to be a case of someone being too dense to realize it was Prussia in here, right?

Right?

Hell Italy was in here too! Even if Prussia was awesomely happy to be alone, people should have been flocking to help North Italy out!

Straining against the fixtures that bound him, the albino tried to get a look at his roommate. They'd been drawing so much blood from Prussia lately that the silvered haired man was hoping that maybe… just maybe… Veneziano might wake up some time. _'Of course… do I actually want him to?'_ The company would be nice… but the location sucked. This whole situation sucked. Feeling fatigued and dizzy from the simple effort of looking up and raising his head, Prussia leaned back again.

The pressure behind his eyes seemed to burn so he closed them, inwardly fighting away doubts he was too awesome to be having.

x 0 x 0 x 0 x

"You know… it's really not the same…" France let out a sigh, swirling the contents of his wine glass absently as he leaned gracefully against the bar. At his side, Spain barely seemed to respond to his words, staring forlornly into his own glass of alcohol. The two weren't the only patrons in the bar, yet the establishment was far from crowded, affording them an easy sort of privacy. The bartender kept to the other end, an eye on the 'men' in case they needed refills, but staying out of the conversation.

When Spain didn't deign to respond, France shook his head lightly, a mirthless chuckle passing his lips. Blue eyes dimmed and gazed into a distant nothing, brows pinching in some unspoken pain. It was a minor blessing that no other Nations had disappeared since America… and yet… France felt as if he could see the world starting to unravel. The first thread had come loose when Prussia had disappeared… it'd been worked looser with North Italy's loss… and then as ever, America had to go and give it a mighty yank by vanishing.

Hanging his head for a moment, France tried to ignore the ache that seemed to persist in his chest of late. Losing Prussia had been a terrible blow. Though their friendship through the centuries was certainly… odd… and… not always something he'd brag over… it had persisted. Just like his not always desirable friendship with Spain… they were a trio. They'd remained friends despite the fates and follies that had befallen their countries… and it'd made their weird brotherhood unbreakable. Or so he'd thought. Yet somehow Prussia had finally been lost to them. Something worse than becoming an ex-Nation had befallen him… if such a thing could exist… and he was left now in a duo.

It might not have hit him as it had Italy Romano… and by association Spain, but France had lost a precious little brother as well in the disappearance of Italy Veneziano. The bright artistic bundle of energy had always captured part of France's heart, and his more lecherous desires aside, he'd always tried to watch out for the Nation. Even when on opposite sides of a war… France had understood it was politics. North Italy was precious to him in a way different than he was to Germany, but it was yet another piece of France gouged out when he'd vanished as well.

America disappearing… truly, was some cosmic force mocking him? He was loathe to admit much affection for that Nation, considering the way he'd been repaid for his help in his Revolution over the years! Granted, he didn't expect the young Nation to pay him particular favors, but it was irksome that America seemed to be so attached at the hip to England after everything was said and done. It was an exasperated fondness, like staring at a younger brother that annoyed you to no end yet you found you loved anyway. How in the world had that idiot disappeared? With the racket he made doing virtually anything, you would have thought his vanishing would have been the most publicized and a media stunt.

Yet it wasn't, and like some sort of horrendous chain reaction… France was now forced to deal with an England who was falling into a frustrated pit of despair. The efforts to locate America were going just as Italy had predicted at the meeting: they were a failure thus far. The clock was ticking and not a clue had shown up. England was distraught, Canada as well, though France was extremely proud to see the Canadian stepping up and offering as much assistance as he could to the President of the United States during this crisis. Canada was holding up strong, and France couldn't help but think America would be proud (if he didn't get too caught up in complaining about Canada 'messing up his country' while he was away).

But England…

France sighed, and cast a pensive glance to Spain. Well, now was as good a time as any to bring it up. "I've been thinking… you know…"

Spain turned his tired gaze to France, showing he was listening even if the sunshine robbed Nation didn't speak. France offered him a smile and rushed through the words.

"I was thinking I'd invite him to drink with us…"

Spain stared at France for longer than was necessary, arching his brows and donning a smile that was neither happy nor oblivious. "Inviting? Who?"

"… England."

Spain slapped a hand down on the bar, shooting him a dark look. "France! I come here to try to forget about my worries for a bit! Why would I want to sit around with him? Even if he wasn't such a horrible drunk I wouldn't want to… I don't have the energy to be so nice to him… not anymore…"

France cringed inwardly, having expected such a reaction. He knew it was unfair to Spain to even suggest this… yet… France needed to do _something_ to drag England away from a search the Frenchman had secretly deemed pointless. Drinking was not, of course, a productive alternative, nor was it a vice England should be encouraged to… but to France even shameful drunken binges were better than isolating yourself on a dead end mission. England wasn't about to collapse, his country standing strong and the Nation remaining attentive to his own duties. All the same, France knew he needed to break England's fixation on his search. Telling him to give up would be futile, but England needed to rest before he burned himself out. Or... before he became a target of whatever disaster was plaguing them all. Call if selfish, but France simply could not handle the loss of someone else close to him, not even his less English rival.

"Please Spain… he will destroy himself like this. You… you should understand. You have seen how Italy is now… the loss of Veneziano would have broken him surely if you'd not been there? It is unlikely England will suffer my company for any reason but to drink… as my friend, can you not allow me this? At least once or twice? He is hurting… he has lost his little brother."

"Again," Spain stated, more weary than bitter or angry. France's smile didn't hit his eyes.

"Yes, again."

The Spaniard raked his hands over his hair, shaking his head and letting out a sigh. He tossed a lopsided grin France's way, nodding his head in a resigned manner. "Fine fine, I'm ok with it. Right now we should all be helping each other anyway… though if Romano gets angry about it then it's off! He's… still sort upset with him."

"Thank you, Spain," France offered sincerely, and the brunette Nation just waved it off.

"Maybe if England gets away from the search for a bit it'll do some good, and if that good leads us to the missing Nations… well… then it'll be worth it."

x 0 x 0 x 0 x

"Awesome! You did it!" Alfred lifted the tiny child Nation high in the air, beaming at him and showering him with a dazzling smile of praise. High up in his arms, laughing and smiling with dimpled cheeks, the auburn haired little one held his triumph high in chubby little fingers. America lowered him and moved to look at the little one's accomplishment, namely the perfect rendition of the alphabet he'd taught him, all written out in upper and lowercase with crayon. Though they'd been dabbling with simple words as well already, the fact that the kid had mastered the alphabet was a cause for celebration!

"Are you happy?" The little one asked, needlessly if you looked at America's proud smile, but hungry to please as most children were. America ruffled the child's hair, nodding vigorously and enjoying the sound of English coming off the tyke's lips. He'd been told to take care of the kid and… not having a clue what the scientists were looking for him to do specifically, America had decided to take care of the kid as he saw fit. Passing on his language, teaching him to write and read… it was thrilling. Sure, America had sat with the children of his citizens before, taught normal human kids these same lessons…

… but it couldn't compare to this. There was something powerful in this exchange, in offering up vital parts of his culture to this child and watching them being accepted and absorbed. It was as if with each thing the child learned from him, a tiny thread was being tightened around his heart. The bond between them strengthened with each letter, word, and simple sentence constructed.

The only thing still missing from the bond growing between the two of them… was the little one's name. Even giving him words and sounds and syllables and tones, the child hadn't been able to accurately convey his name. He'd tried, and America had really tried to figure it out… yet in the end… somehow… it always came back to one thing. The child would point to the circle drawn on his shirt, would point to it as if that was the answer to his name. America had asked (stupidly but hey! No such thing as stupid questions, right?) if his name was circle, or the letter O, or round, but the child had said no to all of that.

Round seemed like a silly name for a country, but America had been berated about not knowing his world geography so often that he wouldn't count anything out anymore!

"We really need a name for you though," he mused out loud, and the red eyed child moved to sit in his lap, eyes wide and waiting as he looked expectantly at his older brother figure. America thought for a bit, then grinned. "And if we can't figure out your Nation name… then let's pick your human one then! I mean, Iggy picked mine, so that means I get to pick yours, right?"

"Iggy…?"

"Yeah, my big bro! Or he… well he… ya see…" He faltered, a whole world of doubt suddenly swimming up to hit him. His chest constricted, for thoughts of England could only remind him that… perhaps someday… he might lose his connection to this little kid. He hadn't spent nearly the time England had spent raising him… and already America knew the pain would be awful. _'But I did tell Iggy that… if the roles were reversed… I'd be proud of the kid for striking off Independent…'_ He was determined to stick to his guns on that.

"America?" The soft uncertain voice snagged his attention back, and America was all grins and good moods again.

"Ok! So… so we know your real name has some sort of circle connection… so how about giving you a human name that starts with an 'o'? What do you think of Oscar? Oliver? Uh… are there other names that start with 'o'? Uh… Orlando? Orson?" He arched his brows at the kid, twinkling ruby orbs locked to his blue ones in thought.

"Oliver…?" It was tentative, but America smiled.

"Ok! Oliver it is! I'll wait to pick a last name for ya until I know what your Nation is… just in case the name won't match at all or something." The little child grinned, apparently pleased to have a name to call his own. America wrapped him up in a hug, savoring the moment.

Still, as wonderful as he was feeling, and as much as his attention was so constantly absorbed by the child Nation locked away with him… America couldn't forget he was a prisoner. The fact gnawed at his soul, reinforced every time the child was taken away for whatever reason. Reinforced every moment he wandered his cell and found it too thick for even his strength to break through.

More than anything though, he felt it in the strangely disjointed and weightless feeling that seemed to drag across his senses some days. On those days it was only Bill's faint presence somewhere near that kept him grounded at all, that kept his mind and body from going into a panic. His land and people, there were days they felt distant to him… too distant. On those days he felt weak, and America feared what would happen when those days became too common. He worried what might happen if Bill were to be taken farther away.

He didn't know how long he'd been stuck here, but he hadn't lost sight of his goal. Escape. Take the kid with him. Rescue North Italy and Prussia… rescue his citizens and the other hostages….

Just your typical hero work. He just… needed his heroic plan to come together.

**

* * *

A/N:**

I lost most of my inspiration for this story for a while, but I think I might have some of it back now. It's weird writing such a sad Spain, but while this isn't how I normally would portray him or anything… with the tone of the story, happy go lucky oblivious Spain wouldn't make sense.

Anyhow, hope this chapter was alright. Thanks for reading~


	6. Chapter 6

"Ah, England you've arrived at last~" It was just as France was about to step forward and throw an arm about the Englishman that he paused, blue eyes widening at what he spied just beyond the other's shoulder. France faltered, and it left England with just enough time to slip casually around France, dodging physical contact as he entered the bar. Recovering his wits slightly, France cleared his throat. "I... I see you brought a guest. Welcome… Germany…"

Perhaps in another time, England might have gloated a bit over thwarting the frog's attempts physical contact, and perhaps in another time he might have enjoyed the way Spain seemed to be shocked into going rather white. However… it was not that time, and England could find only a shallow sense of victory in turning the tables on France today. While perhaps _part_ of him acknowledged that France was actually concerned for him, and had asked him to come drinking a couple weeks ago out of concern, the rest of him was far too wrapped up in his searching to play along.

France and Spain might have time to waste drinking, but England did not. He had his duties as a Nation _and_ a former colony to track down. Every moment counted. So, while he had finally broken down and agreed to France's request to come out to the bar, he'd made his own plans to make it a productive night. He could get drunk off his arse later (and he probably would once this was all over). For now… for now. Well, yes. Business.

He took a seat at the back corner booth that France and Spain had procured for the evening, dragging up another chair to accommodate Germany. Getting the German out here had been quite difficult, nearly impossible, but England had persisted. If there was any truth to France's claim that he needed to take some time amongst friends to keep sane, then the German was long overdue for this. The man was a husk, a cog in his country's machine and little more.

England couldn't admit to purely wanting to help Germany out of goodwill and kindness. He did _sincerely_ hope for the man to recover himself… but he also was hoping to snap Germany out of the shell he'd retreated into. He wanted Germany's _help_. Tonight he was hoping that, with a little bit of alcohol and the first lead he'd uncovered he'd be able to rouse something in Germany. Perhaps the company of his brother's old friends would help with this as well. He could only hope.

When they all took their seats, England rather pointedly declined any alcoholic drinks. He caught the exasperated look France shot him and crossed his arms. "Don't look at me like that. I agreed to come out with you, I never promised I'd get pissed."

Francis sighed, rolling his eyes and waving his hand back to brush his hair over his shoulder. "So it seems. You look quite determined to undermine my gesture of good will."

England's hands tensed, balling into fists upon his lap. It wasn't that France's comment made him angry, no, but he possibly felt just the slightest bit guilty over the matter. France really did seem disappointed, and he _had_ sounded rather worried. There was no time to worry over that now though, England had worries enough. He flicked his green eyes to Germany, who sat straight as a rod in his chair, pale eyes glued to England. The Brit cleared his throat and tried not to grow too tense.

Spain had recovered his color, though he seemed quite content to simply sip his drink and watch. That left it up to the frog to ask what England had in mind, and the Nation didn't ask so much in words but with a raised brow.

"I may have finally found a true lead in locating America, North Italy and Prussia," he said without preamble, quiet so as not to be overheard by human patrons of the bar, but loud enough that the other Nations didn't have to lean in to hear. Germany stiffened to attention, focused on the exact phrase that England had used to lure him out to this bar tonight.

France let out a small gasp, eyes narrowing. "You have? Why bring this up to us at a bar? Why haven't you called a World Meeting over this?"

England shook his head, scowling. "I said 'may', I don't want to bring this to light until I'm certain, lest the rats catch wind of it and hide deeper."

France leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers together before resting his chin upon them. England mirrored the gesture, leaning in close. They locked eyes, and England continued to speak.

"I'd of course acquired all the security footage from the hotel America was taken from, making copies and dissecting every frame of it. Now, while his actual abduction wasn't filmed, I'd taken the liberties of doing a background check on everyone I could possibly identify, cross referencing them with hotel staff and whatnot." England took a breath, mentally shaking his head. That'd been a very long and trying endeavor.

"There was only one man I could identify that wasn't registered as staff or as a guest. There were partial figures in frames I couldn't identify at all, but I made special note of this visitor who supposedly had no business there." France nodded at him, and he continued, not bothering to look to make certain Germany and Spain were listening. He was sure they were.

"He was a dry lead at first, an American citizen with nothing tremendous on his records that I could find at any rate. It was rather difficult to pry, considering the rather paranoid state that country is in with their Nation away. Canada helped quite a bit in gaining American cooperation and…" he flicked his eyes to Germany, unnerved by the intensity in the man's eyes. "It was also Canada who brought something to my attention."

England sat back for a moment, reaching into his pocket and pulling out what appeared to be a pamphlet. He flicked his gaze about, making certain no one was near enough to see but his fellow Nations, before unfolding it and sliding it towards Germany. The Nation read it twice over before passing it over to France. The process was repeated by France who moved it to Spain. The Spaniard read it, took a phone picture, and gave it back to England.

"The 'One Earth Movement', an American activist group calling for global unification, to put it mildly." He scoffed at his own over simplification of such a radical plot. "Canada and the American government are already hard at work trying to track down who is funding this group, where they are based, and who their members are. In investigating this group, however… we have learned some very troubling things."

Germany leaned forward now, tension radiating from his broad form, shoulders held rigid. He had their air of an angry dog, restrained by his master's hand for now, but snarling and ready to lunge for the throat. England wasted no time in continuing.

"It would appear that there is a very similar group to this 'One Earth Movement' in Canada… _and_ in my own country. I would strongly advise you all take a look at your own, for I suspect there may be many instances of this group across the world. They don't seem to be connected from the little intelligence we've gathered… however, with such similar messages I believe they must.

"Additionally, the man I identified from the hotel was seen at one of the few 'One Earth' gatherings we were able to acquire photos of. Gentlemen… I believe this man may be our link to recovering our fellow Nations."

"So why the hell haven't you apprehended this bastard and beaten my brother's location out of him yet?" The sudden onslaught of Italy's voice made England jolt, head swiveling about as he instinctively tried to pinpoint the irate Nation.

With a smile people hadn't seen in quite some time plastered on his face, Spain slowly slid his cellphone to the center of their table, the display illuminated and decorated with a tomato and 'Romano' indicating just who was on speaker phone. He sent a mildly reproachful look to England, but he seemed much too happy to finally have a lead to give to Romano to lose his cheer. "You know England, if you thought enough to include Germany in this, you should have had us invite Romano as well."

England opened his mouth for a moment, as if to answer, before letting his lips slowly settle shut again. What could he say? That he didn't want to give false hope to the Italian? That he'd thought Germany needed this sliver of hope more? In the end, Spain was right, and he shook his head. "My apologies… yes I should have."

"Who cares about that?" Italy's voice snapped over the line. "When are you going to grab this bastard? You better bring him here, I'll get everything out of him!" The fury in Romano's voice was intense, but it paled in comparison to the menacing authority of Germany's voice when he spoke next.

"No, when this man is apprehended _I_ will be the one to interrogate him."

The other three Nations at the table shuddered, shrinking away from the German. The aura he radiated was unnerving, his expression frightening, and the malice that seemed to lurk in his eyes was stunning. Italy was lucky he couldn't see this, but if the lack of insults to the 'potato bastard' and backtalk was any indication, Romano had picked up on the mood well enough to know better.

England gathered his wits and made certain to speak very calmly. "We won't be able to simply apprehend an American citizen with nothing but circumstantial evidence of a kidnapping crime or supposed terrorist activities…"

Germany fixed his gaze to England, resolute and focused in a way he hadn't been in a year. He said nothing, but his expression spoke volumes. He knew what they legally could or couldn't do… and he would work within the framework of the law so long as the law worked for them. England knew he'd need to call Canada and his government and meet with the American government immediately… of course bringing his own into involvement as soon as possible.

x 0 x 0 x 0 x

He hadn't seen Oliver in five days, and he was about ready to tear the walls apart (or his hair out). Granted, he knew he couldn't actually tear the walls apart (he'd tried already, as well as the door), but that didn't stop the impulse from surging through him. He was worried, protective instincts going haywire as he remained trapped in here, useless. If there was something he couldn't handle it was being useless and trapped when someone needed help. Especially someone he cared about.

Oliver had looked so sick the last time he'd seen him, too. Things had seemed fine (as fine as they could seem with the whole kidnapped/captured/hostage situation), and he and Oliver seemed to adore each other in equal measure. He'd been taking so much pleasure in sharing his culture with the little child, and the child was soaking it all up so very eagerly. But… the tiny Nation had also seemed to grow pale as the days went on, becoming weaker and sickly.

_They'd_ taken him away… and then that was it. No explanation, nothing. His new little brother was suddenly just gone, leaving America with nothing to do but stress over his fate and the entirety of the situation his time with Oliver distracted him from. America tangled his fists into his hair for a moment before collapsing onto his bed. Oliver wasn't the only one feeling unwell, but he didn't want to admit to that. Heroes didn't complain about their own problems!

As it stood, America had been feeling a strange sense of detachment lately, one he guessed came from spending so much time away from his native soil. He hoped Bill was his only citizen trapped here (wherever here was), but that also meant there was little of 'America' here for the Nation to connect to. He could still lift his bed with one hand pretty easily, but America had the sneaking suspicion his strength was wavering, and he sort of thought he was feeling more tired of late than he should.

He wouldn't die though, no way! So long as the good ol' U.S. of A. stood strong he'd exist, the country personified. He hoped. God he sort of wished he'd asked England more about the nature of being a Nation. He'd never seen the need to, always just taking his existence for granted. But now, now he needed to know. _Could_ these guys kill him even if the United States was still standing? Would harm to him harm the health of his country? If he did die, would a new Nation be born to take his place?

Could… Oliver…

No. America ended that train of thought, getting up and pacing. No need to worry about those things when all he needed to do was heroically escape and rescue everyone here. _'Think of a plan… think of a plan… think, think, think, think, think!'_

His (not so successful) thoughts were interrupted when his cell door opened. He tensed, balling his fists and ready to fight. He didn't sense Oliver, and the guns pointed his way didn't bode well. He did, however, sense Bill, and his alarm levels went off the chart. A scientist he'd only seen a couple of times motioned for him to follow them, and America cringed to see there was a gun constantly trained on Bill, who was blindfolded, gagged, and adorned with ear plugs.

America tried to send out calm reassurances to his citizen, needing reassurance from the patriot as much as the man needed his country. The group marched down the hall, no one bothering to answer when America demanded to know where they were going. The urge to try to make a break for it right now was strong, but the Nation resisted. Not yet. Now wasn't the moment.

When they came to a set of heavily guarded doors America blinked. This room… these were the doors that led towards where he was sure North Italy and Prussia were being held! He stretched his senses as much as he could as they passed through the doors and continued down the hall. He could sense… he could sense someone vaguely. The further down the hall they went, the clearer things became for America.

Clear but anything but good.

He could sense more than one Nation beyond, one obviously Oliver. The other Nations he could sense felt vague and weak though, barely enough of a presence for him to pick up on. It made his heart sink as they passed through the last door, entering a small observation room. America was nudged towards the soundproof safety glass, and what he saw made him see red.

"Italy! Prussia!" Without thinking he rushed the glass, pounding on it and sending cracks racing from the point of impact. If he continued to strike it it'd shatter no doubt, no matter how much it'd been reinforced, but for the moment it held together. The sound of his strike was loud, startling the humans moving about in the lab on the other side of the glass below. It only made _one_ of the figures strapped down to a metal table stir, however, and pained red eyes followed the source of the noise to gaze at America.

As Prussia held his gaze America felt his blood turn to ice. Those red eyes, he'd been staring at a pair so similar with Oliver. He broke his stare with Prussia, looking with dawning horror at the comatose form of North Italy. Auburn hair… his eyes roamed to take in the sight of Oliver, and he shivered. _'Oh god, what is this?'_

"It seems you're starting to understand…" America spun on his heel, all but growling and wanting nothing more than to throttle the scientist before him into giving him some answers and setting everyone free. The guns trained on Bill and him made him pause, though, and the scientist laughed. "You'll have your answers America, but we're not ready to give them to you yet. What we need from you today is your blood."

"What?" America's eyes narrowed, body rigid and ready to move if he needed to. The scientist simply smiled and pointed him towards the cracked observation window.

"That child… 'Oliver' I believe you've named him? He is quite weak. I'm afraid without a blood transfusion, he won't survive much longer. Normally we use the blood of our other subjects down there… but as you can see… they're hardly fit to perform such a task at present."

Horrified, America did look over his shoulder again, staring in open dismay at the emaciated husks of North Italy and Prussia. It was amazing they were alive at all. He turned his eyes back to the scientist, and as if anticipating that America had had enough of playing it safe, he clicked a button. A row of monitors along the wall flared to life, revealing room after room of kidnapped humans.

"If you do not cooperate, you should know that they will all be killed. Oliver. North Italy and Prussia. Your citizen here. All of those people you see in those videos. All of them will die because of you. Think on this clearly."

America's teeth clenched so hard he thought they'd surely shatter. He was so angry he was seeing red, so furious it was a wonder he didn't just snap. He couldn't though, because if he did he'd be condemning so many innocents to death… but all the same. He let out an aggravated shout, loud and long and burning his throat by the end of it. He punched a chair in the room, breaking it apart and sending it flying into a wall. It did little to ease the anger inside of him.

Panting, he stared down the scientist, pleased to see that at the very least the man looked terrified for his life. What should he do, what should he do, what should he _do_? He'd never heard about sharing blood between Nations. He'd always guessed it must be taboo or something, because no one ever seemed to do it or talk about it. America had never really been hurt enough to need it personally, so he'd never considered it. But still… his blood, the blood of the American Nation… that wasn't just his to freely give about, was it? Would this hurt his nation somehow? He had to think of his country and his people. Over everything else, his duty was to the United States.

The scientist offered no answers, too busy trying to compose himself as he waited for America to make his choice. America turned his back to the man, walking to the glass and placing his palms against it. He stared at North Italy. He stared at Oliver. He stared at Prussia, the ex-Nation still staring back at him. What would Prussia say if he could speak right now? 'Do what you think is awesome'? America sighed and turned to the scientist, nodding his head.

"Whatever you're trying to do, you're not going to succeed. Remember that." The scientist smirked and gestured for the guards to prepare to move them all into the lab.

"Your thoughts have been duly noted."

* * *

**A/N:**

Don't worry dear captives, your fellows are coming to save you all! Eventually. XD

So, a bit of a question/request for my readers. I speak only English. I took a language in high school, passed the classes, and forgot most of what I learned. To get to the point, our dear villains have little branches all over the world, yes? And they wouldn't all be using English for their name. So, if you happen to be fluent in another language (or confident in what you know), I'd love to see the 'One Earth Movement' translated. I don't want to use internet translators for this, and it's not terribly important for me to get any translations. I can certainly write around it with ease. But it could be fun. Heck, if you're from another country (English speaking or not) and want to toss a name suggestion for your country's branch feel free. Fellow Americans, sorry, you're stuck with the 'One Earth Movement'. Any suggestions I get might be included next chapter.

Reviews are always loved, thank you SO much to those who do.


	7. Chapter 7

So. It was America then. In the haze of exhaustion that Prussia's world had become, his mind could do little else but acknowledge that it'd been America who was here, too. He tried very hard to actually do something with the knowledge. Anytime he'd try to make the fact mean something fatigue or some phantom ghostly pain would wash forward to distract him. His head was dizzy and light, and no matter how hard he tried he just couldn't seem to make the gears in his mind spin. He closed his eyes tightly, squeezing them as hard as he could as he tried to fight off the persistent ache that rested behind them.

_America was here._

The heaviness of his limbs seemed to drag him down, the cold of the table biting against skin that couldn't produce enough heat to warm the metal it rested on.

_America was here... they'd looked each other in the eye._

He really thought this should all mean something. Or... no... it didn't have to _mean_ something... he just needed to do something with the information. Make a plan, use this new information to... to...

"Shit..." He snapped his eyes open, wincing at the sting of air against the over dried orbs. He let out a sharp rasp of air from lungs that felt paper thin and empty, and the blackness that crowded the edge of his vision threatened to knock him out. His ears began to ring sharply, veins all but pounding throughout the whole of his body. Prussia fought against it, fought to remain awake and aware and _damn it all America was here_! Even if that fact wasn't significant, even if it didn't mean anything, Prussia would _make_ it mean something! All he needed to do was focus. He just needed to be able to forget his pain and exhaustion and that stupid little voice in the back of his mind telling him it was alright to sleep now. He'd been a good Nation. An _awesome_ Nation. But he wasn't needed anymore... it was ok now. It was alright to just... let...

"No..." His hands trembled, and he didn't know if it was emotion, from despair, or if maybe he'd become so weak his body just sort of trembled through spasms all the time now. He tried to curl his fingers into fists, and it seemed as if the digits had petrified. Damn. It. All.

So America was here... well... big fucking deal. That brat couldn't do anything on his own... he always needed someone to whip him into shape. Prussia had helped make America a force to be reckoned with once... he knew how to make the kid useful. He just needed to figure out how to make America useful _now_, because hell if the kid had the smarts to make _himself_ useful. Looks like the awesome Prussia was needed once again.

It took the ex-Nation a moment to realize it, but eventually he heard it. The sound of his own laughter, dizzy and unsteady and delirious and fuck... maybe a little mad. He didn't care, though. He laughed more, louder now, ignoring the way it sapped his strength and hurt atrophying stomach muscles. He laughed as loud as he could, defying the situation and, to his mind, spitting in the faces of those who thought they could break him.

No, he wouldn't break.

He'd laugh, and he'd grin, and he'd win. His eyes took on a new life, his face a mask reminiscent of who he'd been. He laughed to the room and to the medical equipment and to the lights. He laughed and laughed and turned his head, ready to share his rekindled spirit with Italy. It was as he looked over, and laughed loud and long, that he found a pair of too long closed eyes watching him. North Italy was awake... and it nearly stopped his laughter. The captives stared at each other, a shadow of silence catching the room. The moment didn't last long, Italy's eyelids falling shut again. But it'd been enough, and Prussia's laugh echoed out again.

x 0 x 0 x 0 x

"Fratello..." Italy Romano rubbed at his chest, a sudden tightness and an arrhythmic beating of his heart stealing his breath away. No one else at the table seemed to notice, all eyes on England as he tossed pamphlet and paper after paper down, rattling off branch after branch of the radical group. Italy's voice had been quiet, and for once he was glad to just sit back in his chair, eyes off of him and focused on the blond. There was pain in his chest, a weird dizziness in his mind, but somehow... for just a moment... he could have sworn he felt _right_ again. He could have sworn he'd felt Veneziano.

"Then there's 'En värld för frihet' in Sweden..." England muttered, tossing another sheet down onto the table, shaking his head. He crossed his arms and narrowed his green eyes at those assembled. It wasn't a world meeting, despite all the information gathering they'd been doing. They'd discreetly pointed many of the Nations towards examining these radical groups, but they were still a bit wary about officially going after these groups. Other Nations were watching the branches festering in their countries, and that was good enough for now.

The small group assembled here hadn't explained why these groups were important or that they were connected yet, but the other Nations weren't fools. They'd learn on their own in time. They weren't trying to keep it a secret really, because the scope of this all was truly worldwide it seemed, it was a coup that could harm the whole of the world. Responsibly, they should be giving the other Nations as much time to stop this as possible. But... any rash action might lead to the deaths of the captives, and England wouldn't risk it. Italy didn't agree that it would be quite so dire. Romano thought it over cautious, and wished he was surprised that Germany seconded his opinion.

The Italian chanced a glance over at the ice-eyed blond, the Potato Bastard looking as rigid as ever. He shivered though, because he couldn't shake the feeling that the German was hiding something. Ever since they'd had that meeting at the bar, when they'd finally grasped a bit of hope in finding Veneziano and even that bastard Prussia and stupid America... well, Germany had become aggressive. He was insatiable and unrelenting in his insistence that they apprehend their suspect in the kidnapping.

Today though... today he seemed in control. He was still critical of any delay in action, yet he wasn't barking demands as he'd been in their few meetings prior to this one. Italy sat back in his seat, hand moving absently from rubbing his chest to fingering the reassuring weight of the firearm he had tucked within his suit jacket. Romano was dying to take action as well, American political fallout be damned. Hell, it seemed like Americans were always complaining about conspiracies or corrupt police work and such anyway (from as much as Romano kept up with American news anyway)... they could deal with a kidnapping.

It was in their best interest, after all. No matter how much Canada and England were stepping in to help regulate and stabilize the country, it couldn't be denied that the country was starting to slip without its actual Nation there. It wasn't full scale economic decline and anarchist chaos or anything, the United States of America wasn't about to just fall off the map. It wasn't anything so devastating, and that was a good thing for the missing Nation at any rate, showed he was probably alive _somewhere_.

However... without the Nation the American government was becoming more sluggish than many criticized it to be, function and initiative grinding to a halt. It was as if a giant cloud of hesitation had fallen over the country, doubt, fear and uncertainty prevailing. Things could persist in this state for a while, and other Nations could help somewhat, try to nudge things with the help of their governments... but they needed to find America to lift this limbo. Find him or... well... the other option wouldn't be pretty.

"We've nearly found one of their bases..." England continued, his speech something Italy had been somewhat ignoring. "As we haven't been able to locate anything of note on the record of our suspect, we may need to attempt following another member back to the base."

"No," Germany interrupted sharply, not a shout but a firm tone of voice. Those assembled... Italy... England... France... Spain... shifted in their seats. The video conferencing software that connected Canada to this meeting showed the blond had gone somewhat still as well, curious as he hugged that weird bear of his tight. "We have a solid clear lead... we have a lead we could utilize _now_ rather than waiting to see if you're correct in finding a new base. I have people who are ready to apprehend our suspect _immediately_."

He turned a steely gaze to England and even to Canada, as if daring them to challenge him over this. England spluttered a few indignant words about causing a bloody international incident (and perhaps he meant literal blood spill), but didn't outright make any demands that the German back off. Romano smirked, because he knew that giant eyebrowed bastard was just itching to find an excuse to go after their target, crippled by political interests he had to dance around nicely.

"I have been patient... I have gambled my brother's life on your slow time frame. I have gambled North Italy's life." The German turned to stare at Romano, and for _once_ in his life, he felt like giving that potato bastard a hug. After what he'd just felt... Romano just _knew_ that acting now was right. He had his own people ready to go, his own resources lurking about America, both legal and otherwise. Germany wasn't waiting anymore, well, neither would Italy. If the American government was stupid enough to let capturing this citizen lead to some big possibly violent outburst, then fuck it. Romano would bring it, and that stupid potato bastard surely would as well.

"Let's go," he sneered, challenging everyone else at the table to oppose them. Looks were cast about before everyone stood, Canada hiding a small smile before he closed off the connection.

x 0 x 0 x 0 x

There had been a time when America had quite honestly not known what it was to get sick. He hadn't known what feeling ill was, and in this odd naivety, had assumed his favorite food could solve any problems. Just eat a few burgers, pop one on your forehead even, and you were good to go! Ok yeah, he'd call it pretty stupid, looking back on it now, but that was just how he'd been. He'd learned in time what it was to be ill, oh yes he'd learned. He'd come to understand the unpleasant physical responsibility a Nation had to its country.

That was how he was able to smile at Oliver, as the little one played and drew on paper and told America stories that were slight modifications to the tales America had shared. It was how he knew that the dizziness he felt from all the blood they'd drawn from him was a picnic compared to how the two Nations he'd seen in that lab must be feeling. If... if they could feel anything at all. America had been taken down a few more times, more blood drawn than he wanted to consider, and each time North Italy and Prussia had been little more than slumbering corpses.

Apparently little Oliver's health was more tenuous than America could have imagined, all those times they'd been separated likely due to the need for transfusions. America could guess at the reason for it... though it didn't make him happy. Land... citizens... did Oliver even have any? Even that brat Sealand had his tiny rusting hunk of territory, and his citizens were fiercely determined to maintain their independence. Sealand was small, but he was healthy in that regard.

What... so what did Oliver have? If what America suspected was true... and he'd been crafted from North Italy and Prussia... then the little one had nothing. South Italy had taken control of the whole of that country, and Prussia... Prussia had nothing to put it bluntly. Which confused America, because why would you try to replace a country that wasn't a country? If... that was Oliver's purpose. The fact that the tiny guy couldn't articulate his Nation name bothered America, especially combined with those horrible messages played to the kidnapped people when he'd first arrived.

Oliver had no 'citizens' yet... but would he in time? But where... where would they live? They had to have land... and no Nation was going to let some be taken away just like this.

"Look look! Is this it? Is this a buffalo?" America shook his head, shaking off the haze as much as he could before blinking at the picture. It... well... it uh. For a child that'd never seen a buffalo, you couldn't fault the art.

"Yeah! That's the most awesome buffalo ever!" He flashed a smile and a thumbs up, which earned him a radiant grin and a hug. America wrapped his arms about the kid, purposely not thinking about how little he felt like he had to hold back. Hollow and disjointed and weak... not too much, but he could guess he'd get there if he let things continue like this. He needed to find just the right balance... a moment after a transfusion so Oliver would be strong enough for an escape... but he wouldn't be too drained from giving blood to get everyone out. He'd been using his way amazing acting skills to make it seem like he was cooperating, but he doubted that'd earn him much freedom.

The little one in his arms snuggled in closer, yawning and looking up into the blue eyes of America. It was probably nap time... and that actually sounded pretty nice to America. It was disconcerting to be lacking his boundless energy, but that was reality for now. The heat from the child he held was lulling him into a restive state anyway, and he sat back on the bed, letting Oliver cuddle to a more comfortable position.

"Am I going to get to see a buffalo someday?" The tiny tired voice made America smile, and he nodded his head, taking off Texas and setting the glasses carefully aside yet within quick reach.

"Of course!" He guaranteed quickly, even if buffalo weren't numerous like they'd been back in the past. Guilty as America felt over that, they weren't extinct at the very least, and he knew where he'd take Oliver to see them. He'd take this little one everywhere and anywhere he wanted to go once they got out, and that was a strong motivator to get moving. As if he needed any more motivations than he already had.

"Sing me a lullaby?" Oliver asked sweetly, turning those adorable little red eyes up to America hopefully. The Nation choked down the memory, the phantom face of Prussia rising up for a moment. _'I'm working on it!'_ He promised to the memory, and seriously he was. But for now he really did need to rest, and so he turned his mind to thinking up the proper lullaby. He'd sung quite a few to Oliver already, so it was a stretch to pick out a new one he'd like. As he dug through the caverns of his mind, a tune he'd almost forgotten bubbled up, and his voice dipped as he started to sing it without really thinking.

"Flare up and burn it down, from corner to corner with that hellfire... don't leave a single trace, burn down even their souls ..."

He trailed off, eyes going just as wide as Oliver's were. "Whoa whoa... never mind! Forget that one!" Oliver quickly started nodding his head, apparently happy to have that particular song stop. America went quickly to a repeat for now, anything to wash away the creepy vibe he'd just created. It took him a moment, but of course such a tune had to have come from England. Stupid stupid creepy England and his freaky _fake_ magic and eerie chanting singing voice. God, had he really sung that to get America to go to sleep?

Stupid England. Stupid England who he really... really... _really_ wished was here right now.

* * *

**A/N:**

I feel bad that, by and large, Canada is stuck in North America playing 'let's balance two countries!' for most of the heroics. But... well... so it goes. His efforts have been absolutely essential, and he'll have lots of good bro moments later!

Sorry about the 'lullaby'... sometimes it amuses me to think of big bro England sharing his love of magic accidentally. No wonder you're so scared of ghosts and refuse to believe in magic America!

This feels like it took a long time to update. My free time is like a roller coaster. Just not as fun.


	8. Chapter 8

Tonight was not fated to be a good night for Kyle Redglass. Of course, if one believed in karma, then rightfully so.

His day hadn't been that great either, if you asked him. There was little point in doing so, however, for Kyle was just one of those men. _Nothing_ ever went his way. His job didn't pay enough, the price of gas was always too high, the government was run by people whose agenda was to make him obsolete, farm his job away. A chronic complainer, a long winded one if you let him. _Nothing_ was ever his fault, either. As said it was always the government, or his boss, or perhaps even his mother's fault for not loving him enough so long ago. His misfortunes were never _his_ doing, never the result of a man who'd prefer to scheme and cut corners and dream of a better life without working for it.

Oh he had the American dream alright, but he sort of missed the point where you woke up, rolled up your sleeves, and got to work achieving it. Of course, he'd certainly managed to surpass the two-point-five kids bit with no trouble at all. Even then, however, it was just something else to complain about. Too many mouths to feed and a good for nothing wife who might as well serve dog food with as well as she cooked, what joy. Thank God for beer.

Beer was pretty much his agenda for the evening as he stomped his way to the porch of his house (that was bleeding him dry to own and wasn't the government supposed to be bailing out homeowners like him?). Pop open a cold one, plant himself in the den in front of the computer, and waste his night away on illicit internet sites while ignoring the brood stinking up his 'castle'. Some king he was. Oh right, no kings in America!

To make his night that much better, Kyle dropped his keys, swearing profusely as he warred with a pronounced beer belly when he bent down to retrieve them. Where were his brats when he needed them? Picking things up were what he had the little punks around for. He kicked at the door for good measure, enraged that no one had come to greet the breadwinner (even if arguably he wanted to see his family even less than they probably wanted to see him). Still... it was oddly quiet. Maybe God had smiled on him and the wife had taken off with the brats, dragged em all off to the grandparents' house. Hell, maybe she'd never bring em back.

_'Yeah right,'_ he thought as he snorted and shoved his way in the darkened house. _'If she left then I'd just have to pay fucking child support.'_ He shook his head, calling his wife a few colorful names as he fumbled for the light switch. They couldn't have left a damn light on for him? Half the time he came home to every damn light on in the house, wasting his money further.

The light switch did nothing when he flicked it, however, and oh how _that_ started a tirade at everything and everyone and no one, the postal service coming notably under attack, because of course they must have failed to get his electric bill to the proper place on time. Shit, did this mean his beer was going to be warm? Stomping towards the backdoor, heading to check to see if it was just blown fuses, Kyle just never stopped complaining. Granted, that wouldn't have helped. He could have gone back outside silent as a mouse and he still wouldn't have been ready for the strong arms that reached out to grab him, never would have stood a chance against the feel of the blunt object colliding with his head.

This was only the start of Kyle's bad night, and no one really cared.

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England walked down the hall, face drawn and unreadable, eyes cast down as if tracking his own footsteps was the most important thing on his mind right now. He was 'late', if you wanted to put it as such, arriving to this very particular location after everyone else who was supposed to be in attendance. If the even way he walked was any indication, however, he was not upset about his tardiness in the slightest. No, this had been somewhat intentional on England's part. He'd forced himself to come later, to arrive well after the kidnapping had been done... to arrive no doubt some time after interrogation had begun. He'd _had_ to come late... because England simply wasn't certain he could trust himself at the moment.

He wasn't certain he could trust the others, however, and that was perhaps worse. If he could place his trust in anything, it'd been in the fact that they were doing what they _had_ to do. A Nation wasn't sinless, a Nation would bear his or her fangs to defend their country, and England was never one who'd shied away from staining his hands. This time however, this time, even if America was in danger and lingering feelings of brotherhood screamed for England to lead the charge... he wasn't the one most deserving of it. His relationship was nothing when compared to what Germany and Italy Romano faced... and England could bide his time in this.

"I'd thought you'd be in there already," came that damnable frog's voice, drawing England's gaze from the floor up to the blue eyes of the other Nation. He was leaning against the wall beside _the door_, arms crossed in a manner meant to be casual yet obviously anxious. It seemed France had no intention to enter and participate in the interrogation, or even watch it. Instead he'd waited out here, and part of England denied that he'd been waiting for _him_. This worry and concern from the frog was getting old. Old, tiresome, and very much unnecessary. Perhaps he'd just ignore him.

France sighed, shaking his head slowly, well aware of this age old song and dance between them. If they weren't going to awkwardly work together, then it was more than likely they'd fall to senseless squabbles. It was not what he wished for tonight, even if being ignored by England irked him deeply. France would be the bigger Nation tonight, he'd take the high road. "_He_ has been our guest for a couple of hours now... though Germany and Romano only entered a half hour ago."

England paused right outside the door, staring at it and almost surprised he didn't hear the sound of shouting and violence coming from the other side. No doubt it was a very thick door, but England had a feeling no significant harm was being done at the moment. This was an _interrogation_, not torture. The risk of false information rose significantly in torture situations... but England wasn't certain just how long emotions would remain in check if Germany and Romano did not get the answers they wanted.

"No one is in there, to watch them?" England arched a brow at France, watching the other Nation snort and roll his eyes. Restrain them was the more appropriate word, probably.

"Spain and Canada are in there, though I doubt they're inclined to step in to stop any violence." France pushed away from the wall, staring down at England carefully. Lashes dipped low, blue eyes looking at England not with lust, but with something quite sober. He dropped his voice, a low inquiring whisper. "Are you?"

England would never admit that he'd been asking himself that very same question. No, that'd be like admitting the frog knew something, wasn't just spewing nonsense. With barely a glance at the other Nation, not caring that France seemed resigned to guard duty tonight, England entered the room. There was no need for the door to be locked, not with this many Nations here, not with all the security precautions they'd taken to ensure they wouldn't be disturbed tonight. Their location was remote, discreet, and deep within the heart of America. The only one who might have come rushing to see what was going on here was precisely one of those unable to.

As his green eyes adjusted to the low lighting of the room, England took a moment to peruse what techniques the other Nations may have already employed. The man certainly hadn't been in their possession long enough for anything like sleep deprivation, though the small sound system present may have been tuned to play white noise before the interrogating Nations had entered. It didn't seem as though any drugs had been employed, though it was difficult to say for certain. Their target was seated in a chair, restrained but not forced into any sort of stress positions, and Germany's tone as he spoke was modulated, in control.

The room itself was little more than a concrete square, what would have been a cold unpleasant office in a warehouse type structure. As this facility was currently abandoned and out of use, the walls were bare, the only furniture here provided for their guest. A sickly row of lights had been set up overhead, though all bulbs but one had been removed to keep the place dim. Otherwise, there was nothing. Just cold grey, dim plain walls, and now five very unhappy Nations dealing with one traitorous human man.

There was no time to attempt the technique of presenting themselves as the only allies this man was about to have, no time to sway him into believing that when things got ugly, he was going to be glad he'd passed on anything he knew. It was a solid technique, and of course Germany would know it well, but it was not suitable to their situation. Besides, Mr. Redglass here seemed to be making his position very clear, repeatedly.

"Oh sure, come on in. Look, it doesn't matter how many of you freaks comes in here, you're not getting _anything_ out of me!" He spat, not able to project far enough to land a hit on Germany, but enough to get Romano to seethe and bristle. Germany seemed unaffected, and England continued in. Well, their captive was stubborn, but fairly stupid. At least he wasn't feigning ignorance. England was fairly certain that he had probably tried that route without success to begin with.

No doubt by this time they'd already covered the mundane basics, names, charges and such. It was a bit of a bother to be a little behind, but England wasn't here to suddenly take over. Not at all. Still resolved to let Germany and Italy Romano handle this, England moved to stand by the walls, near Spain (and Canada he almost jumped to realize). The human American watched and rolled his eyes. "If I hold out long enough I'll have the whole fucking _world_ in here, huh?"

The slap rang out before England could even blink. Honestly, he was a bit impressed. He'd always _known_ Romano had a horrible temper (and personality... and so on and so forth...), but the Italians had always sort of been branded as cowards. To see how viciously he'd lashed out, smacking the human across the face... was a good reminder that the Italies weren't quite so easily dismissible. The man was stunned, slumping in his chair since the restraints kept him from falling. He shook his head, obviously not expecting the little brunette to pack such a punch, and England felt just a bit satisfied. Humans really didn't understand the differences between them sometimes.

Romano, however, didn't seem satisfied at all, leaning in close to the man, yelling and cursing at him in fluent furious Italian. When Mr. Redglass recovered enough of his senses, he tried to put up a tough-guy front again. "Blah blah blah hey why don't you go make me a fucking pizza asshole! I don't speak Italian!"

The Italian Nation nearly lunged on the man, held at bay only by Germany's quick move. The German moved right up into the man's face, hand fisting into the man's shirt, lifting him and the chair just slightly. The man squirmed a bit, no doubt in pain anywhere the chair was essentially hanging from his body due to the restraints. Germany's cold eyes had narrowed, trapping the human with his gaze. "You do not speak it but you recognize the language." The man rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, so?" Germany lifted the man just a bit higher, his fist gripped just a bit tighter, and England just waited for him to say exactly what he was also thinking.

"Because you recognize _him_." Germany gestured at Romano. Perhaps if the man didn't seem like the poster boy for American stereotypes it wouldn't have seemed so doubtful that he wouldn't recognize Italian when he heard it. But the man nearly slipped up, a smirk hitting his lips as his head started to nod. The first nod had barely been made when the man's face went red and he vehemently shook his head instead, glaring daggers.

"No, uh uh, I ain't sayin' nothing!" England shook his own head, frowning. For such an idiot to be part of these 'terrorist' plans... the organization must not be trusting him with much information. _'They must have also coached him to simply refuse to say anything.'_ The man certainly wasn't clever enough to talk his way out of his guilt.

Germany let the chair drop suddenly, jarring the man. Before Mr. Redglass could begin to bitch and moan, the German leaned down, placing his hands on the arm rests and getting right in the man's face. Put so close to the anger the German Nation was displaying, the human lost much of his nerve, sitting back as straight as he could to try to escape this wrath. "You _will_ want to talk. And you _will not_ want to lie to us."

The human shook in his seat, licking his lips and frantically trying to seem brave. "You... you can't do anything to me. If you hurt me, you'll be starting a war!"

Germany's face didn't change at all. "Is that what you were told?"

The human's shoulders shook, his forehead dripping with sweat as he contemplated whether or not to answer or evade. England shifted where he stood, hoping the idiot would try to press his advantage. _Anything_ he let slip about the inner workings of this organization was valuable. Redglass swallowed hard, jaw twitching from how tightly he clenched it. Germany gripped the arms of the chair tightly, jarring them, giving them a shake. The sweaty smell of fear was ripe in the room.

"You can't do anything!" The man declared again, this assurance apparently all he really had to cling to. Silly foolish little man. Obviously, the organization saw him as expendable.

"Why the fuck not, bastard?" Not satisfied playing spectator, Italy advanced closer. Considering the last slap, Redglass leaned away slightly.

"Because I know what you _are_, and you freaks are more than just some foreign guy kidnapping or murdering me! You guys are _more_, so if _you_ do it, it means more! You wouldn't dare!" Yes, England could hear the doubt in the man's voice now, that first little nagging 'what if they lied to me' creeping up, and perhaps even 'why aren't I being rescued?'.

Italy sneered and chuckled, taking his turn to lean in when Germany took a step back. For apparently hating each other (well, on one side at any rate), they were moving through this interrogation in remarkable harmony. Romano pulled a gun from a shoulder holster, pressing it right up to the man's forehead, between the eyes. The man let out an undignified squeak. "Seriously asshole? You really _think_ your country would go to _war_ for a shitty _nobody_ like _you_?" Romano pressed the gun against his head, much harder, forcing Redglass to angle his head painfully to try to escape the pressure. "_After you kidnapped your own?"_ Romano's finger seemed to tremble, as if it itched to fire.

"You can't do this!" Redglass yelled out, frantic. The Italian stared him down, and as the human sought out all other eyes in the room, he was met with nothing that gave him any hope. "You can't! You can't!"

Italy Romano pressed the gun in harder, and for a moment England wondered if he was actually going to do it. That... would make this a bit of a waste. Satisfying in a small degree, but a waste. Still, Germany wasn't moving, as if the two had this all orchestrated. At length, Italy stepped back, eyes full of venom and a smirk on his face. Redglass seemed torn between wanting to smirk and gloat, and being terrified at that expression. Romano just shrugged, putting his gun away. "I could kill you right now and no one would ever find out, bastard. There are ways to make people disappear, and I know plenty of regular people to make it happen if I don't feel like getting my hands dirty on you." It was probably an empty threat, but the man seemed honestly terrified that the mafia would be after him if he ever got free.

Germany moved back into the man's focus, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down on the human. "Tell me, is what you're doing worth dying for? What did they promise you to make you so willing to die for it?" Germany was holding onto civility by a thread. Redglass seemed to see this at last.

"Look... look you can't..." The man licked his lips yet again, finally reaching that great deciding moment. Cooperate or dig a grave. Save his skin or die for the cause. The man's internal debate seemed to end when his body went limp, when he sagged in his seat. He wasn't smirking when he stared at those in the room, but there was something nasty and hateful in his eyes. "It's all your fault. You freaks. We can't fucking change anything because you all won't let us. No more, not any fucking more. We don't need _all_ of you, we just need _one_ of you... who'll work for _us_! And when we win, I'm gonna be rewarded for my hard work!"

The Nations assembled shared looks, frowning. England brought a hand up to cup his chin in thought. They only needed... one of them? Old habits couldn't help but make him think of Russia, but that Nation seemed unlikely to have anything to do with this. No, this was no scheme hatched by one Nation to take over, and though seemingly disinterested, Russia had been assisting moderately in the searches. Still... England wasn't sure what to make of this revelation. They wanted just one Nation... who would serve them? Was that the point of the kidnappings? Capture a Nation, try to bend it to their will... and grab a new one if the old didn't work out? No... that just... didn't seem to make sense. It didn't paint the whole picture.

There was also the matter of what happened to all the other Nations, and the man's words couldn't really be any more clear on _that_ point. If any wars were being declared here, it was by this man and his group, against the Nations of the world.

"Everyone," Germany's voice broke the tense silence, commanding attention. He was glaring down at the man, perhaps having followed a similar path to what England had. If they were kidnapping until they found a suitable Nation to use... then Prussia and Italy were most likely... "I will finish acquiring information from this man. Alone."

"No you're not you fucking potato bastard!" Romano's face was bright red, but resolute. Germany said nothing, didn't cast him a glance. England was half of the mind to stay and watch... but decided to oblige Germany in his request. Having a moment to think, to revise the conclusions he'd drawn, would be useful. In his short words, the man had spewed some pretty definite inaccuracies about what Nations were, and their relation to their people. Control them? This man had been deliberately misled on many things, or their enemy had terrible information.

Spain was already leaving the room, pausing near Romano for a moment to offer him encouragement that the Italian pushed away. Canada... was he already gone? England shook his head, not entirely sure if the Nation was in the room or not now. He didn't need to tell Germany to make sure the man gave up everything he knew. As the German began to fix his gloves, it became quite clear that the German would be getting what he wanted, one way or another.

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_'Well... this is new...'_ As America was strapped into the seat he'd be in while giving blood, he couldn't help but stare over at Prussia. The Nation was, as he'd been since he'd been taken here, lying on the cold table, naked and a tangle of straps and monitors and tubes. But unlike the last times America had seen him, he wasn't asleep. He wasn't just a breathing corpse. No, this time, Prussia was awake. Awake but delirious, or so America guessed.

The ex-Nation was singing, his eyes sweeping in a daze at anything or nothing. They seemed glassy and unfocused, as if Prussia didn't even know he was awake, or that he was singing at all. The tune was loose and rambling, like a song you'd expect to hear someone break into when they'd had too much beer. America couldn't understand the words though, which was weird, because he figured he should recognize at least a few German words here and there. But as the technicians prepared to drain his life fluid away, America realized he didn't really recognize the sound of the language at all.

Another technician came in the room briefly, checking on Italy and rolling his eyes. In Spanish he spoke to the tech working on America, muttering something along the lines of 'he's _still_ singing?'. The other tech could only nod, muttering that he didn't see why they couldn't just sedate the ex-Nation. America snickered, which earned him a rather rude manipulation of the needle in his arm. The blond had to remind himself to play nice and not retaliate. Oh well, at least it seemed that Prussia was pissing them all off today, even if he wasn't aware of what he was doing. America had to admit, it was sort of awesome.

As America sat there, the tech supervising the blood draw, he let his eyes wander the room. He'd stared at everything in this room each time, trying to see anything that could spark a plan, but he'd always been hampered by the fact that Prussia and Italy were comatose. But... now that he really looked at the two of them, it seemed like they were doing marginally better. Perhaps now that they were draining America dry they wouldn't need to decimate what was left of the two Nations. It was a bittersweet and depressing thought.

"Hey, blond guy," Prussia suddenly sang, and America blinked. He looked vaguely at the techs in the room, noting that neither had blond hair. America let his gaze move to Prussia's face, but the other wasn't looking at him, still singing that weird song of his in that language he didn't recognize. "Hey you hear me right? Don't be un-awesome and answer me, but you hear me eh?"

America nearly couldn't contain his sudden excitement when he realized what Prussia was doing. That tone, that very same inflection he'd used to communicate with Oliver for the first time. That special way Nations could understand each other... Prussia was using it! It was weird as hell to have communications sung out, but hell, America would have jumped up and done show tunes if it meant getting out of this place. God that'd be weird, some song in dance in this little room. Wait, focus America!

Prussia kept up his silly song, voice raw as hell, but pushing on all the same. "Good boy. Geez, you really do need the awesome me to come up with a plan, huh?" A bit of laughter got into the song, and man it was hard for America to keep his face neutral. In some small way, he was glad the blood drawing was making him start to feel lightheaded. "Anyway, listen up. I'm gonna fill you in with what I know... and then I'm gonna find a way to make you useful!"

America really wanted to roll his eyes, but he was so happy to have Prussia awake and as an ally that he'd make sure he didn't mess this up. So he listened intently, trying not to wince as the horrible things done to these two were related in a singing manner.

* * *

**A/N:**

So yeah, if I've magically happened upon your exact name for our kidnapper here, I'm sorry, no horrible harm intended! The name is just a mockery of a reference to David Greenglass, who honestly has no bearing on this story.

In case there's any confusion, Prussia is singing in an extinct language. You can wikipedia that if you'd like (and fun enough, there's an entry for 'Old Prussian Language' listed under West Baltic Languages). I'm not going to specify which language exactly Prussia's belting out here, but that's why he can sing pretty freely. Poor baby America here probably wouldn't have much contact with some of the extinct European languages (though he has plenty of his own extinct ones!), hence his not recognizing it. Of course, the fact that I'm pointing at wikipedia here should show clearly I'm not claiming to be an expert here. At ALL. So cut me some slack, please. =)

Anyway, this should be one of the last 'set up to the rescue' chapters. I say 'should', because sometimes I misjudge these things. But, yep. Hope you enjoyed.


	9. Chapter 9

"Hahaha... whee! Faster!" Oliver kicked his legs, tickling America's sides inadvertently and almost making the Nation flinch. Still, the blond chuckled and tried to comply, though honestly you could only do push-ups so fast. Besides, everyone knew that if you rushed through exercises your muscles didn't get the full benefit of whatever exercise you were doing. You had to be deliberate, let the muscles burn and strain, that was the ticket! But... America really was having trouble finding a reason to say no to Oliver, and so like a bucking bronco he sped up, moving up and down faster so the little Nation on his back got an even better ride. Tiny peals of laughter filled the room, Oliver's little hands gripping to America's shoulders so he didn't fall off his back.

The workout wasn't really because America was trying to bulk up anyway. No, he knew that his waning strength had less to do with being idle and much more to do with the blood transfusions and his separation from his people. He was working out today to see how his stamina was recovering from the last transfusion, seeing if he was well enough to put the plan Prussia had outlined into motion. Of course, America was planning to alter it a bit, but he hadn't been able to tell the ex-Nation that. All America had been able to do was listen in silence to Prussia, listen to everything he had to say, everything about what had happened...

_"... been spending an awesome day alone, just me and Gilbird, enjoying a glorious day outside while the rest of you jokers were all stuck at a World Meeting. Kesese, it was even more awesome because it was a perfect day for a walk, I bet you were wishing you'd been outside then! But then I noticed something... someone was following me! Of course, being as awesome as I am, I noticed right away. Normally it's not a big deal, you know how sometimes humans are a bit sensitive about us not being human, so I brushed it off and kept on walking. Kept walking... and kept noticing the fan club I was starting to develop, eyes locking onto me from all over..."_

America shook his head, slowing his push-ups a little and trying to get some sweat out of his eyes. Oliver leaned forward, trying to help wipe the sweat away with his hands. "Thanks Oli!" America said brightly, even if the little one had only made it worse. His eyes stung and he closed them tightly, riding out the pain and waiting on his tears to flow and help out. As he contemplated rubbing his face against his own shirt sleeve, he kept on thinking about the tale of Prussia's capture. They'd been lying in wait for him all over... they'd tracked him from rooftops and rooms like he was some sort of dangerous beast. _'Because he was the first they went after... and they probably didn't know just how strong we all were...'_ America cracked his eyes back open again. They were extra blurry now (he wasn't wearing Texas at the moment, too easy to slip off doing push-ups and all), but at least the pain had diminished.

_"When they fired their first shot at me, of course I dodged! My reflexes are too awesome for that! But I was pissed... because these were West's people shooting at me, I could tell! There was no way I was going to run from them, I'm no coward! But every time I chased after one they led me right towards another hidden shooter. So... of course I knew I had to change tactics. I had to get them to come to me on my terms! So I didn't run away... I made a tactical change of locations! Kesese, that seemed to trip them up a bit!"_

Prussia's plan had sounded like it should have worked, though America rolled his eyes. This was Prussia, who was pretty notorious for making himself out to be way more awesome than he really was (unlike America, who of course was always _exactly_ as heroic as he said he was in his stories), so it could have been an exaggeration. _Something_ in the story must not have added up though, and even Prussia had seemed pissed off and annoyed that somehow the humans had managed to outmaneuver him. It was news to America that Prussia had actually been laying low and in hiding for the first week of his disappearance, playing a game of cat and mouse with these turncoat citizens. He hadn't wanted to put Germany at risk, apparently. It's why he'd kept out of sight without warning anyone. He'd thought he could handle it. Considering the brilliant battle tactician Prussia could be, it seemed sound.

However, this was a new age, wars and battles and traps handled differently than they'd been back when Prussia was a power. The ex-Nation had adapted to technology just fine, but had he had to deal with modern city warfare and technologically assisted tactics? America knew all too well, it only took a couple lucky shots from a human to get the upper-hand, and with the right gadgets luck could be artificially increased. As powerful as the Nations were, they weren't immune to injuries, they weren't bulletproof, and drugs and substances could affect them as well. Yes, they healed and purged toxins faster than a human... but they could still be brought low. From the sheer number of shots they'd hit Prussia with, dart guns filled with a cocktail of substances that the humans had probably guessed at for taking down a Nation... it was amazing the ex-Nation had woken up as quickly as he had.

_"It wasn't like they told me what they used to knock me out, but when I came to I was here. I ripped right out of their restraints the minute my eyes opened, kesese you should have seen their faces! But, well, they filled the room with some sort of damn gas, and they didn't make the mistake of weak restraints twice!" Prussia had grimaced in telling his tale then, pausing to let his cracking voice rest for just a moment. He'd been singing all day apparently. "I'm glad they got me first though... these assholes didn't have any idea what they were doing. The cuts they'd made, the things they pumped into my veins... I was practice... fucking practice!"_

America tapped Oliver's leg, urging him to climb off his back so he could move to doing sit-ups instead. So far his stamina seemed pretty good, and as Oliver moved to sit on the ground right next to him, he could tell that the little one was still feeling alright. _'Good, this has got to be the sweet spot then. I'm feeling just strong enough to go through with the plan... and Oliver is strong enough that he can probably handle the escape, too.'_ Granted, in Prussia's version of the plan, Oliver wasn't supposed to come with them. Prussia seemed to have an extreme hatred of the little one, and after hearing about all the torture they'd done to Prussia, examining and taking samples from him... it was reasonable. America couldn't put any blame for the things Prussia had suffered on Oliver's shoulders... the kid was innocent, he hadn't chosen how he'd been 'born'.

But... he supposed in Prussia's shoes he might have felt differently. Especially when the ex-Nation had been forced to watch what they did to North Italy. America swallowed down a lump that formed in his throat at the thought of it. Yeah, they'd poked, prodded, tested on Prussia to get a better idea of what a Nation was. But Italy... when it came to Italy, they'd worked with more of a purpose.

_"I know everyone thinks he's weak, I know it's easy to look at him like a coward, and Veneziano doesn't really try to make anyone think differently. But when he screamed, it wasn't because of that! No... no... if you could have seen what they were doing to him, what they cut out of him, what they... you would have screamed America. Any of us would. They just took from him... ripped things out of him, filled him with drugs to try to accelerate the healing... but all the while Veneziano had to deal with it. Deal with the pain he felt inside..." The way Prussia had shuddered, the fire in his eyes and that painfully intimate understanding that'd flashed through red eyes. "You don't know what it's like, losing your status as a Nation. Suffering this all at once... he's strong..."_

America frowned. He really couldn't imagine what it was like. Losing your status as a Nation... hell, he couldn't even begin to imagine it! His situation wasn't that at all, he might be separated from his people here, kept off of his lands... but he was _still_ a Nation. He knew it in his bones, had no question about it. He hadn't been gone that long, surely his country was still thriving, no new Nation had risen to take over. _'But... we... we gave up on North Italy... we declared South Italy to be...'_ He flopped onto his back, losing the will to keep doing his sit-ups. The guilt weighed on him heavily. These bastards had tortured and tormented and taken so much from Italy... and he'd had to deal with that while the rest of the world gave up on him.

Was it painful, becoming an ex-Nation? Did it hurt physically? Emotionally? Did you feel drained, stripped away? Was it disorienting? A loss of self? Your identity ripped away? America knew there was a reason you didn't have tons of ex-Nations roaming about. There was a reason Prussia was such an anomaly. It... it couldn't be easy... to cling to life when _what_ you were was ripped away. It had to be agony, America was sure of it, but Prussia hadn't gone into details about that. He'd barely been able to contain his rage when talking about what was done to Italy, skirting the edges of it lest his anger give away that he was doing more than just singing.

"America?" Oliver leaned forward, crawling over to curl up against the blond Nation now that he wasn't moving. Honest little red eyes stared up at him, worried. "Are you ok? You look sad..."

Reaching over and pulling Oliver into a hug, America sighed. "I'm ok buddy, it's alright." He rubbed calm little circle's on the child Nation's back, possibly more for his own comfort than Oliver's.

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"Mmm... boss really doesn't like having you rush off into danger without him..." England hid his smirk as he listened to Spain fussing over Romano, pretending to check over his gear much more intently than he was. To his side, the Italian was bristling, trying to find some way to finish preparing for their infiltration while pushing a 'mothering' Spaniard away. It didn't appear he was having much success. Romano looked ready to pull his gun on Spain if the other Nation didn't back off, and yet Spain didn't seem like he felt threatened at all.

"Chigi! Back off you bastard! I can handle myself, you're not my boss anymore!" The Italian's face was bright red, eyes glaring daggers. England still thought it was pretty clear that Romano appreciated Spain's concern, though. Perhaps it was a 'big brother' thing, but surely Italy was happy Spain so obviously still cared. "Besides," the Italian continued, stomping on Spain's toes and finally getting the other to take a (pained) step back. "You decided not to come, not my fault you're worried now!"

Spain sighed, yet still managed to smile, shaking his foot out just slightly from the pain. "It's not because I don't want to go..." The smile faltered, Spain's face touched momentarily by the fearsome shadows of his former ways. "I do, Romano, I do. I can't stand doing nothing, knowing what these people are doing..."

Like the sun coming out from behind the clouds, that old look vanished, the more familiar 'happy Spain' taking its place. "However, someone who knows everything needs to stay behind, right? In case things do not work out for you all. If you run into trouble, leave it to the boss! He'll rally the other Nations and lead the rescue!" He attempted to grab Italy up in a hug, but the smaller Nation dodged away with ease, no doubt thanks to many years of practice.

"Cheh, whatever. That... what's-his-name guy could do it." Spain looked to the ceiling, as if trying to figure out who Romano was referring to.

"Canada already has his hands full," France cut in smoothly, saving England the embarrassment of admitting he'd forgotten who Romano had been referring to as well. He was perched on a table, looking over the blueprints that Germany had acquired for them. Redglass had, in the end, given up all the information he had on the One Earth Movement, and though it wasn't much, it was enough. He'd squealed about where they'd taken America after abducting him from that hotel, and had given up the names of other people involved. Germany had followed those leads immediately, moving from warehouses to train yards and docks. After a tangled search that led further and further south, they had a destination to go investigate.

"_You_ could have stayed, pervert..." It was unclear if Romano was actually upset that France was coming, or failing to hide that he possibly secretly would like to have Spain at his side for this. Difficult to tell, and England didn't bother wasting the mental energy on puzzling it out. As it stood, he'd rather not have France along either, but it made sense as much as he hated to admit it. France obviously cared for North Italy, was a long time friend of Prussia... and... well, he probably still cared about America somewhere in that heart of his. However... unlike Spain, who had moments of passion hidden under his sunny stupid mask... France probably wouldn't loose his cool coming along. Typically you'd think to rely on Germany to keep a cool head, or England himself... but the frog might possibly be useful.

_This_ time.

"Is everyone ready?" Germany was looking them all over, his gear meticulously prepared, a heavy winter coat held in his arms. England didn't like the impatience he saw in the German's eyes, didn't like knowing that his own probably looked just as bad. God it was maddening, knowing where to go and not already being there. But it wasn't as easy for a Nation to just pick up and run off as some would think, and it'd taken _much_ explaining by each of them to get their governments to allow them to go at all. Secretly, England wondered if Italy had gotten permission at all, but kept it to himself. He wouldn't get in Romano's way over this.

"Ready," came the chorus of replies, in different forms and tones. Germany nodded, pleased, and turned on his heel. Marching out, he led them towards the car that would be taking them to an airport, which would lead them south, where they'd be catching a ship. _'Please hold on America...'_ Never before had he seriously hoped for some of America's ridiculous invention ideas to be real, but a 'super teleporting robot bus' sounded lovely at the moment. England wouldn't be able to forgive himself if they were too late thanks to the time it took to travel.

x 0 x 0 x 0 x

In the dim light of a computer screen, a stubble-ridden face stared at rows and columns of data. The face seemed haggard, worn out and tired, but the eyes burned with intensity. A graveyard of coffee tins in the kitchen not far away served as a testament to the lengths this man went to remain awake, stay with his research. They were getting there... they were going to achieve their goal at last. He let his tongue flick out to wet chapped lips, fingers clicking the mouse, bringing up new screens to look over and analyze.

There was the sound of metal grinding against metal, a door latch that wanted to rust shut forever forced to move. The man leaned back in his chair, feeling his joints pop and protest about suddenly being straight. He probably shouldn't hunch over quite so much when on the computer, but so it went. He was getting too old to care about his posture, and quite frankly what he was working on now was so much _greater_ than physical appearance or comfort. Did it matter if his body became warped or bent when he was mending the world?

A rather portly and thick woman entered, hands cradled around a Petri dish. Her hands were thickly gloved, not from the cold. No, they had their facility warm enough to keep anyone from ever thinking they were stranded in this frigid land of ice. The gloves were there to protect, in case some accident should cause the dish to crack, cause the sample within to escape its confines. Oh the man _knew_ that no true harm could come from coming in contact with the sample. He had, after all, done exactly that nearly three years ago now. However, the sample wasn't ready for use in a large scale yet, they weren't at that part of the timeline.

She spoke up, a solid heavy voice so much like the rest of her. The man frowned, swiveling his chair just a bit to look at her properly. "What was that?" He spoke up, his native tongue at odds with hers. The woman paused, confusion in her eyes for a moment before she yielded to his language, her accent thick and cumbersome. It was an annoying issue for the One Earth Movement, the international collection of languages they spoke. The problem wasn't in learning to communicate, but in the end goal. One Earth, One Culture... One Language. Which one though... which language would they speak?

Obviously, the more 'political' minded of the group argued over this constantly. Languages were brought forward for consideration, shot down just as fast by those claiming it went against the spirit of the group to convert to the language culture of any existing country. Those same people argued for the creation of a new language, which quite frankly just seemed silly.

But the man, with his computer screens and machines and practical science, didn't really care what they chose. Because here, in his research rooms, at the labs, he knew he was the heart of the movement. Without what he was doing with the sample, with the captive Nations, and with their prized creation... the movement would be nothing. It would fail as most of these extremist attempts did.

"I have brought this for you, as requested," she said simply, stating the obvious. He nodded and gestured to a tray and she set it down next to needles and syringes. Stepping back from the tray, she stared at him, expectant. "Do you wish for me to send for the technicians?" The man smiled at her thinly, shaking his head.

"No... I think perhaps I will do the procedure this time. I've yet to meet America personally... it seems a little unfair. I don't need glory or recognition, I'm content to work down here... but I would like to observe him directly." He made a turn to his computer, clicking up the data on the Nation. "He seems quite fascinating, and I have quite a few hypothesis about what exactly will happen when we introduce the sample..."

The woman shrugged. "So long as it makes the transfusions more successful."

"Oh yes, I am quite certain of one thing. Should the sample take, he will be much more compatible with our little one." Nodding his head, the man looked to the tray and the Petri dish. It would be a shame, really, if the sample didn't take, but what did it matter? If America fell he wouldn't lose any sleep over it. He had no love of the United States, and in the end, all of the Nations would be slain anyhow. If he died when North Italy and Prussia had survived, well, it would just mean they needed to collect a new Nation and carry on.

* * *

**A/N:**

It was clear enough, right? The italicized and center aligned parts were Prussia's tale of what happened to him and Italy, sort of flashback-y.

Anyway, at last, the rescue is a go! Action ahead, the next chapter should pack a punch! Well, as much of a punch as my writing can deliver.

Thank you a million for all the reviews! I love each and every one I get, and I'm still a little amazed this fic is as liked as it is. =)


	10. Chapter 10

America frowned, lips quirking down almost as if pouting, his eyes sweeping slowly around the room. _'Well this is new... and not part of the plan...' _Just when everything seemed like it was timing up just right... some guards had come to collect America. _Just_ America... leaving Oliver behind. The Nation had known nothing good was going to come of this, and his placement in this new empty lab only proved it. This wasn't the room they kept Prussia and North Italy in... this wasn't the room he gave Oliver blood transfusions. The little tyke didn't even need one yet. Still, this room was unmistakably and undeniably a lab.

America was also unmistakably and undeniably nude, and strapped down to a cold metal examining table. _Just_ like Prussia and North Italy were... minus all the tubes and wires. Quite obviously, this was a _very bad_ situation_._ As much as America didn't want to break completely from the plan they'd come up with... it looked like he needed to. _Now_. If he was immobilized like the other captives then all hope was lost. He'd have to improvise and hope for the best here, he just couldn't risk letting their slim chance die.

He flexed against the restraints, feeling them moving and giving, mildly elated to know he _could_ break free. His strength was nowhere near where he knew it should be, and the fact that he didn't rip through the restraints like paper sent a twist of fear through him. Mixed feelings aside, he continued to move and work at them, trying to keep quiet lest the guards catch wind and pin him down with the threat of gunfire. Stealth was not something one readily associated with him, but that didn't mean he couldn't do it. He preferred overblown charges, rushing forward with guns blazing... but sneaky he could _definitely_ still do.

The door to the lab slid open, and America dropped his hands back to the table at his sides like a guilty child. A solitary man in a labcoat came in, carrying a tray with dishes and syringes on it. There were guards stationed outside the door, America could see that, but no one else entered. The man stared at America, as much as America looked at him, and there was something decidedly expectant in the way the human stared. America wasn't sure what the man was expecting, but he did nothing. Just watched and contemplated whether or not he could get past this man... the guards... to Oliver... to the captive Nations... to the kidnapped humans...

"Hello..." The man said, setting his tray down on a swivel stand, rubbing at the stubble on his chin absently. There was a peculiar look in his eyes as he leaned in a bit, like a kid on Christmas if that kid was hoping for a dissection kit. He pulled over a rolling chair, sitting down absently, his body sinking into a crooked hunched posture. No doubt caused by the temporary foiling of his escape plan, but America found the bad posture really annoying him at the moment. A million lectures from England on his posture rolled through his mind, but America wasn't in the mood to play hypocrite and tell the man to straighten up.

"Hi," he replied, and the man grinned as if America had just done something rather splendid. People generally didn't celebrate when he opened his mouth to speak though.

A close scrutiny of his body began, eyes trailing from head towards toes in a manner that was thankfully not sexually stimulated. Unfortunately, the traveling gaze soon revealed America's handiwork. The man looked down at America's hands, his wrists, the restraints, humming softly to himself. A flash of panic hit the Nation, wondering if the man had caught him out. Indeed, the man scooted and rolled his chair a bit with his heels, moving so he could examine the obviously compromised restraints more closely. Fingers prodded his wrist, and America contemplated grabbing this guy. He didn't want to use a hostage... it wouldn't be heroic _at all_... but... not succeeding at a rescue was even less heroic, right?

"Was this difficult... pulling them up like this?" America blinked out of his moral debate, startled by the genuine curiosity the man turned on him. There was something strange in the manner the man spoke. It wasn't really an accent, just something weird in the rhythm and pacing of the words. Still, America found he was having a very difficult time trying to place where the man was from.

The man, scientist or doctor no doubt, patiently waited for an answer, apparently just as happy to look at America as get a response. He had no clipboard or notepad, but it was very obvious he'd be taking some mental notes here. America gave him a guileless grin.

"They were like that already," he said simply. The man didn't react much to his words, poking and prodding his wrist, tugging at the restraint before scooting back towards America's head.

"No they weren't, actually. I did have them specifically installed for _you_, after all," the man said, but it was casual and not at all annoyed. "Now, ah yes right, a pleasure to meet you, America. Or would it be more precise, no I mean to say acceptable, to call you the United States of America?"

America _could_ have made some lame jokes in response, but instead kept silent. Odd for him, most of his fellow Nations would say. Still, perhaps feeling a bit irritable and childish at the moment, the Nation smiled. "The United States of America," he replied, fleetingly wishing his full name was ten times longer. "Make sure you remember the 'The'," he added. Why make things any easier?

The man nodded completely unperturbed and leaned in closer, one hand pulling out a small penlight and the other moving to take away Texas. America turned his head sharply. "Hey, don't touch the glasses buddy."

For the first time the man seemed a bit displeased, frowning for a moment. "If I'm to properly examine you-"

"I don't remember giving you the go ahead for _that_ either, so how about you put that light away?" The man stared at him blankly, as if he wasn't quite understanding what America was saying. The Nation frowned and the man gave a slow blink.

"Were you led to believe you were here on a voluntary basis? Or are you simply dim?" The man scratched at his stubble again, and America cringed at the sound.

"Nah, the _abduction_ clued me in about 'volunteering', but I mean it... you don't mess with... my glasses." It might be best not to refer to his glasses as Texas, just in case. Keep the cards close to the vest and all. The scientist shook his head slowly, giving out a faint sigh and wrinkling his brow as if he wasn't quite sure what to do. He cleared his throat while tapping the penlight against his thigh.

"A full examination is preferable, and will lead to a much safer procedure for you," the scientist intoned dryly as he motioned to the tray. America stretched his neck, trying to gain a better view of just what this man thought he'd be introducing to his system. "Your fellows survived the procedure, but there is no guarantee you will. It really would be best if you allowed me a full investigation."

America scowled. "Ya know what I think would be best? Letting me go." He moved his arm just a bit, dropping his voice low. "I don't think I need to tell you I could get outta here if I wanted to."

The scientist was unimpressed, giving the Nation a flat stare. "I am not a man who likes to play games or make threats, but I can do both if you insist on being difficult. It's your call, _The_ United States of America."

America narrowed his eyes, knowing this moment was too long in coming. He'd taken things slow, he'd tried to find some way to save _everyone_... but time was a luxury that was gone. He yanked his arms fully free of the restraints, jolting upright on the table and lunging to his feet. The scientist scrambled back and away from him, but America was faster than that. He grabbed the man, hating himself for doing this but thinking only of his duty. He _had_ to get back to his people, and if this man was talking about doing something to him that could kill him, he couldn't just take the risk. Tugging on the man, America started for the door when he felt it.

His eyes snapped wide as he looked down at the syringe sticking out of his side, shocked. He hadn't let the man get close enough to the tray stand to grab anything, so what was this? _'Damn, he had something on him the whole time?'_ America staggered, already feeling weak and woozy. He wasn't passing out, however, simply starting to go numb. His knees wobbled and he lost his grip on the human, collapsing to the ground. His mind raged, being so aware and helpless as he was. No matter how much he tried, though, he _could not_ get his body to move. Like a corpse he could do nothing but lie there as the man brushed himself off, and he could only stare in vague horror as the man collected his tray and sat down on the floor, apparently happy to conduct his procedure here.

"You know, your sentimentality is what will kill you. Emotions and the like. You let them lead you around, and because of this we have you," the scientist took the syringe to the Petri dish, as if working to collect the sample out for injection. "I do not suffer from that problem. If I were you, I would have escaped immediately. However, I'm glad you did not because now..."

The man was tapping out the air, readying his injection. America couldn't feel the syringe go in, but he could swear he felt something invading his blood stream. The scientist turned to collect another syringe full of the sample, humming softly to himself. "I get to do this."

x 0 x 0 x 0 x

Stomping your feet discreetly wasn't really possible, but as he finally came in from the life draining cold of the world outside, England simply had to. He was frozen to the core, thick winter layers covered with snow and ice. He was amazed his blood was still moving at all, and he was grateful in this moment that he wasn't human. Making the sort of trek the four of them had through Marie Byrd Land was rather insane really. But they hadn't wanted to use any vehicles lest they be detected, and had relied precisely on their inhuman nature to make it work. England knew he and France were probably faring a bit better than South Italy (yes, England was resolved to referring to the Nation as such again) and Germany, but that was no doubt thanks to the claims both had down here. He shivered as he watched Germany seal the door they'd come through shut, and all were on high alert even half frozen in case any sort of alarms went off. England had done his best to disable them, but thickly gloved and shaking hands weren't entirely dexterous.

"I-I... t-think..." The frog was trying to speak, but he gave that up pretty quickly when his teeth refused to stop chattering. For a moment they all were pretty useless, moving their bodies and rubbing at limbs and waiting for the heat of the facility to begin seeping into their bones. It wasn't as though they had time to spare, but they were pretty useless as they were now, and it'd be ridiculous to make a stupid mistake now because they were clumsy from the cold.

When at last England didn't feel like his body was about to curl in on itself and shiver him to death he started to remove some of his layers. They needed to move quickly and quietly, and the snow gear would be cumbersome. The others started to do the same, and though he could still feel the sting of the cold on him he knew he was coming more in control of himself.

"I think," France tried again, and he seemed to have no trouble speaking now. Pity. "That we have not been detected."

England would have rolled his eyes and said something nasty at that but Germany was already pulling out the blueprint he'd managed to 'obtain' of the facility (and none but perhaps South Italy would have enjoyed hearing just how he'd done that). Everyone gathered close after hiding their gear as well as they could. In and out as fast as they could go, it was the most they could hope for. In silence Germany used his finger to trace along the paper, reminding them all where they were and where they were going to try first.

They _could_ cover more ground swiftly if they broke up, moved as individuals or teams, but they were dealing with individuals that'd successfully abducted America and Prussia. As annoying as _both_ those individuals were... they weren't pushovers or easy targets. Getting caught alone might be impossible to escape from. Moving as one unit was also dangerous, for nearly the same reason. If they were all together, all could be caught at once. It'd been a difficult debate, weighing the pros and cons, and it'd been decided that they'd move as a singular unit to a certain point. Then they'd branch out.

Moving through halls and corridors, the Nations kept alert. They could only speculate where the captured Nations might be, and were heading towards the first likely location. It was a larger room, but one that was easily defendable. They planned their approach, crouching and drawing firearms. There were guards but they seemed to have been lulled into a false sense of security based on little action. England would have guessed the guards would be more on edge, surely America had to be causing a riot somewhere. He couldn't fathom his former colony quietly playing prisoner. As he knew first hand, if America wanted freedom, he got it, even if it meant blood. The years might have taught him to fight in other ways, but that tenacity surely had to be there. Which... made the base's quiet atmosphere perhaps a bit more ominous.

With silent hand signals they prepared to move in, a swift distraction and a near silent take down. It wasn't too difficult to take the guards down, and snatching up their keycards, the Nations moved into the room. You could feel the collective tension between them all as they looked about, pulses racing with hope. Could they be so lucky? That hope was quickly dimming though, for surely they would have sensed the captives. They could, faintly... but not enough for them to be in this room.

The crowd of surprised faces, kept in cells before them... were human. All of them.

England swallowed his disappointment down, bitter pill that it was. Stiff upper lip and all that. Italy Romano was quite vocal in his disappointment, vulgarities flowing from his mouth in his native tongue. This seemed to catch the attention of one of the humans, who rushed to the fore of his cell, calling back in Italian. Romano's tirade ended for just a moment, the Nation scowling fiercely as he listened. Germany listened intently as well, understandably well versed in the language. Both Nations moved towards the bars, and in a moment England felt it. A tiny tug, a tiny connection. He scanned the humans huddled behind the bars, some shouting, some simply watching. Citizens... he had citizens in here. All four Nations were nearing various cells, drawn by instinct to their human charges.

"Hello... if you speak English, please come forward," he didn't have to wait long. Whatever these people had been brought here for, they knew subconsciously to trust their Nation, they sprang forward with trust they'd never be able to put into words, uttering words of relief and believing they were about to be rescued. Well, of course they were. He was in the middle of getting the story of what had happened out of a young lady, being told about a kidnapping and a horrible (and idiotic) propaganda program they were all being forced through, when a man rushed his way forward. He certainly wasn't one of England's citizens, but he seemed frenzied and worried half to death.

"Sir, sir!" He came right up to the bars, his accent pegging him as one of America's. England stepped closer, eager to glean some news of America from this citizen. "You're here to get us out, right?"

"Yes, absolutely," he said, and the words had barely left the England's lips before the man spoke up again.

"Al! You have to find Al!" The man shook his head, obviously trying to regain his wits. The man swallowed to compose himself, England swallowed to clear the lump that'd formed in his throat upon hearing the shortened version of the human alias he'd given America so very long ago. "There's a young man, teen probably, his name is Alfred. Blond hair, blue eyes with glasses... they took him away and I haven't seen him again. Please, I don't know why they took him, it doesn't look like they've singled anyone else out, but you've _got_ to save him." The fervor in the man's eyes was impressive, it was a look that always humbled a Nation to see in their own citizens. No doubt America would have been proud.

Drawing himself as tall and straight as he could, England nodded. "I promise you, sir, we will find him. We won't leave here without him."

The man stared him long and hard in the eyes, weighing his words and resolve, weighing the responsibility of saving a Nation on him really. England, of course, could bear such a responsibility. The man nodded, relaxing a bit. "If... if for some reason he doesn't trust you, if he's worried or something, you tell him Bill sent you for him. Got it?"

England chanced a small smile. "Got it." He moved back to a couple of his citizens, assuring them he'd be right there, then moved to where the other three Nations had clustered together. They stood around a control panel, no doubt the one that would unlock the cells. France looked over at his approach, and the tension in his eyes let England know there'd been some quiet arguing. "What's going on?" He asked, hoping to be brought up to speed quickly. Now wasn't the time for a debate.

"We need to fucking find my brother," Romano snapped, and France sighed dramatically.

"Yes, and we need to assist these citizens as well. Finding a way to get them all out of here safely is going to take quite a bit of time and plan-"

"We don't have time for this!" Romano spat back. France huffed in annoyance, and Germany stared at the control panel as if it was an abomination. It certainly added complications to their plans. Saving the citizens, not the panel itself of course.

"Saving these citizens would jeopardize our ability to rescue Veneziano, Prussia, and America," the German said, though the tone in his voice showed his internal struggle. Even if it was only a handful, abandoning citizens wasn't something a Nation could do easily. Had Romano's other half not been in danger, no doubt the answer wouldn't have seemed so clear to him. England frowned, puzzling this over.

"Well..." he said slowly, reasonably. "We'd intended to split up at some point... may as well be now. Some of us stay here, work on a rescue plan for these citizens. The others continue searching."

France gave him a weary stare. "And just _who_ do you intend to leave behind here?" He waved his hand at the three of them, not waiting for a response. "I certainly know that those two won't stay here, and no doubt _you_ want to rush off to save America." England opened his mouth, but found he couldn't argue that. France ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. "Very well! Leave this part to-"

An alarm pierced the room, lights switching from bright white to a blinking red. The Nations flinched, Romano swore, and England had a pretty little set of curses to utter, too. The humans in the room started to panic and shout, languages nearly drowned out by the wailing noise battering at their ears. England shot a glance at the control panel for the doors, but none of them had touched it yet. So what the hell had set off the alarm? A fight broke out in one of the cells, and England raced over. None of his citizens were in the cell, but after all these years there were few languages he was unfamiliar with. Besides... the scene alone would have been completely clear, even without words.

One man was being harassed, shoved and kicked forward. Furious shouting and gesturing brought England's gaze down to the small device being ripped from the man. It was a communicator... and this man had been a plant. He'd signaled for the alarm.

England ran back to the other Nations, just in time to see Germany start working at the control panel. He scowled as he worked, shooting a sharp look over his shoulder. "We have to move, and _now_. France, get all of these people out of here."

France nodded his head, though the stress he felt was obvious. It would have been one thing to get everyone out when they still had the element of surprise... but now he had to organize and lead all these panicked citizens... when who knew what sorts were going to be heading for them? It was a near impossible request, and the look Germany shot England conveyed that the man knew it, too... knew it and had a silent request for England. Scowling, England debated for just a moment. It wasn't what he _wanted_ to do... but it was what he knew had to be done just as much as the German.

"I'll find a route for you to take them all," he bit out, adjusting the radio frequency of the communicators they were all using. It'd tune him in to the frog specifically. He shot a look at Germany, dangerous and full of heat. "You two had better find America as well," he demanded, and then he was running. He drew out his sidearm just in case, darting down a path different from the one they'd taken in here. There was no way they could lead humans out the way they'd come, they'd all freeze and die. So he had to find some sort of transport, whatever method that'd been used to bring these people here. From what he recalled of the blueprints, this seemed the right direction.

After many twists and turns and long hallways, a shout had him dropping to his knees, ducking just in time to avoid the spray of gunfire that flew over his head. England needed only a moment to see the small group who'd run across him outnumbered him and had superior firepower. He needed to escape. _'But, if I can draw them after me, it'll buy the others time.'_ He took one moment to fire a couple shots at them, establish he was a true threat, before he turned and sprinted. Nations might not be godly beings with a slew of superpowers to get them by (the odd exceptions obviously popping up here and there), but he knew he could outpace a human any day. And... speaking of 'powers'...

Casting his gaze about, he tried to spot any Fae or mystical creatures that might exist here. Anyone he might ask to play as his eyes and ears. His typical companions hadn't seemed to follow him here, or if they had perhaps they were already doing his bidding. He ducked down another hall quickly, in no immediate danger but knowing it was only a matter of time. The stupid alarm nearly caused him to miss the frog's voice in his ear, and he brought up a hand to block out the extraneous sound.

"England... we need to move, have you found a route yet?" Just as he was about to snap back that he would have told the frog already if he had, England rounded a corner and nearly fell over in his haste to stop. His mouth caught open as his eyes widened, jolting at the sounds that managed to explode over the wailing alarm. France's voice in his ear meant nothing as he watched the men open fire, listened to the barrage of bullets let loose, and watched as America's bare body twitched back a couple steps. Blue eyes managed to find England's green for just a moment before America fell, hitting the ground and curling up over... something.

He didn't even have to think about this before his body reacted, his hand moved. He took aim at the men down the hall, the man facing and advancing on the bleeding Nation on the other end. He didn't hesitate. England opened fire.

* * *

**A/N:**

It took a bit, but here's the next chapter. I normally love typing up fight/action scenes, but admit to feeling lazy about here. I wanted the chapter out more than I wanted to get into 'epic battle typing'. I know, bad place to leave off, right? Yea.

If I didn't manage to respond to any reviews left to me this round I apologize. was being weird recently, and well... I got a bit snared in other things. But they're appreciated, those reviews, always. Even if I fail to respond.


	11. Chapter 11

The mental tirade rushing through Prussia's head when the alarms went off sounded like a multilingual recitation of every antonym for 'awesome' in existence. This was probably better than a swearing or cursing fit, but all the same, it wasn't a productive use of his mental capabilities. He would have slapped his own face to get a grip, but oh wait, restrained. He tried to flex against the restraints, but hell, just lifting his arms to do so felt like dragging them through tar. Not that he specifically knew how that felt, but he was sure he got the comparison right. Even with America getting most of their captors' recent attention, Prussia was still weak.

No no, Prussia was never weak. Prussia was currently in between states of awesome. A gap. Yeah.

He groaned and let out snort, red eyes blinking against the very annoying red light that flashed and flooded the room in tandem with the noise. As if he didn't have the world's worst headache without the obnoxious blaring sound! Dragging air in through his nose slowly, he peered about the room, first looking at Veneziano just in case something had happened to him. The Nation was actually stirring a bit, a fantastic sign but probably not all too useful at the moment. He didn't need the Italian panicking when Prussia could barely think straight as it was.

"Shh... it's ok Veneziano... just uh, play dead, relax. The awesome Prussia is making his move!" While the boast seemed to settle North Italy a bit... it left Prussia wondering just what move he'd implied himself to be making there. An awesome move, yes, went without saying... but just what sort of awesome move was it exactly? Any minute his brain would let him know for sure... right? Any minute now brain... no doubt it was pausing for dramatic effect.

While waiting for the idea to spring out and declare itself to the world, the door to the lab they'd been kept prisoners in for so very long slid open with an angry hiss, armed men and scientists rushing inside. Prussia swiftly shut his eyes, just enough to look asleep while affording himself a meager sliver to watch them through. The humans were in an obvious hurry, a couple of the armed men watching over the Nations but mostly they were watching _outside_ the room. Good to know. The scientists were scurrying about, collecting things and beginning to pull out and unplug some of the many tubes and wires attached to the captive Nations. _Also_ good to know.

Prussia listened as the scientist in charge of this little group, not the head scientist unfortunately, barked orders about being quick, about needing to move Veneziano and him quickly, before the intruders could reach this location. _'Intruders? I like the sound of that... but the awesome me is no damsel!'_ Rescuers might be on their way, but Prussia wasn't just going to sit back and be rescued. He wanted to kick a little ass here, get in some _much_ deserved payback.

Silently praising North Italy for remaining completely still through this (though, quite possibly, the Italian might have passed out from exhaustion again), Prussia played dead just until his restraints were undone. The minute he felt the last one slip free he dug deep, pulled together every ounce of strength and will he had in his body. His eyes snapped open, and Prussia lunged up as well as he could. Perhaps to the untrained eye it looked more like a drunken lurch forward, but what did 'they' know?

The scientist closest let out a yelp of surprise, but that was all he managed to get out before Prussia tackled him (no, he didn't fall on top of him, shut up), knocking his stupid science-y head into the ground and sending him into a forced nap. Other scientists cried out to the guards, and Prussia shot to his feet and quickly dodged left to avoid the first shot sent his way (No! He didn't stagger left and conveniently fall before getting shot, again... shut up!). The guard was just about to fire again when one of the scientists started yelling at him.

"Be careful! These two are supposed to be moved _alive_!" Man, today was just full of good-to-know things for Prussia. Taking in a couple gulps of air and tugging the remaining tubes and wires off his body (on principle, not because he was afraid of tripping...), Prussia let out a mighty yell. It startled the arguing guard and scientist, and gave the ex-Nation just enough time to pick up a metal tray and slam it into the guard's head. The human went down, and the scientist wasted no time in rushing towards the door.

"Coward," Prussia snarled, though he still had another guard inside to contend with. Thankfully the guards at the door hadn't abandoned their posts to come inside and deal with this disturbance, apparently more worried about the aforementioned intruders.

The guard backed away, raising his gun and taking careful aim. "Stay where you are," he barked out. Prussia didn't bother to decipher the language, just knew he understood it. The ex-Nation sneered.

"Or what? You're not allowed to kill the awesome me... _not that you could_!" The human didn't seem to understand Prussia's words, but the snarl in his voice was probably universal. The man let out a warning shot, but to Prussia it was simply the signal to move. He tackled the man, and he almost let out a curse when the human seemed like he was about to turn the tables. Stupid human and his not-exhausted-from-over-a-year-of-torment-ness! Any energy Prussia had, any adrenaline he'd been running off of was waning. Diminished muscles screamed at the heavy strain, his body felt paper thin and impossibly heavy at the same time, and damn if he didn't feel like he was moving in slow motion!

He wrestled on the ground with the guard, grappling and punching after managing to knock the gun away. How was this even fair, a naked ex-Nation versus a human in body armor? But Prussia snorted and mentally reminded himself that no matter what handicaps thrown his way, he was still way more than a match for this random guy with no name. He got in a particularly heavy punch, dazing the man, and looked up, wanting to shout at Italy and sing his own praises (and yeah, make sure they hadn't stolen the Nation away while Prussia was busy).

Well, North Italy was still on that table when he looked up, but the guards who'd been more focused on the outside had turned, were starting to charge in. The scientists had all fled the room, stupid pansies, and Prussia knocked out his current target before taking a deep breath. He could do this... he could take out more armed men... he just needed to get up. Come on body... up... up! His limbs shuddered and shivered, but his legs just couldn't seem to find their way up, his arms worthless. A guard approached, and though he didn't aim his assault rifle at the ex-Nation, it was obvious that Prussia was about to get clubbed.

He braced for the impact as well as he could, and totally did _not_ flinch when the sound of a gun going off rang out over the noise. He watched in mildly relieved confusion as the guard fell forward, thankfully not onto Prussia. He blinked, registering that the human was actually bleeding and wounded, before looking up. More shots were ringing out, and once again the guards were focused on what was outside of the door. Crawling, because _fine_! It was all he could do! Prussia dragged himself over towards North Italy's table, trying to see past the men in the doorway. Sure... this was probably rescue, but as he managed to haul his body up enough to half cover Italy, he reminded himself to remain vigilant.

When the last guard went down and West rushed in... god... Prussia could have wept manly tears of joy. His brother's eyes swept the room once with vicious efficiency before landing and locking with Prussia's. Germany's face actually seemed to twitch from the emotions his personality and military training didn't want to let out, and Prussia could only send a fatigued smirk to his little brother. West was so cute.

Before the two Germans could truly have any sort of 'moment' though, South Italy pushed his way into the room, knocking into Germany roughly, his eyes blazing with fire and rage. He looked around the room as if he was _hoping_ for someone else to shoot, but nearly went into some sort of fit when he saw Veneziano. He didn't let go of his gun, but Romano ran to his brother's side so fast Prussia was nearly thrown to the floor. Luckily, Germany was well used to dealing with Italians, and was right there to catch the ex-Nation. _Not_ that Prussia needed catching.

"Fratello! Veneziano... _Veneziano!_" With the way Romano was clinging and clutching and shaking his brother, Prussia was almost worried that he'd end up hurting the poor thing. A flurry of Italian was flying out of South Italy's mouth at an impressive rate, his worry and fear and everything else speeding up his tongue. When North Italy's eyes finally opened though, when a tiny little 've' escaped those lips, Romano really seemed to lose it. He nearly collapsed onto North Italy, sobbing his eyes out and causing a very confused yet relieved Veneziano to break out into tears as well.

"Bruder, are you alright?" Prussia dragged his attention away from the Italians, looking up at Germany who was supporting his weight right now. It looked very much like his little brother wanted to sit him down, have a good look at his condition. The ex-Nation grinned, knowing now was not really the time for that.

"Kesesese..." He breathed out hoarsely, trying to find his feet a bit more so he didn't have to lean on West so much (he'd be damned if he was carried out of here!). "Of course. Ya didn't think something like _this_ could stop me didja?"

The smallest of relieved smiles twitched Germany's lips, and a deep line that seemed etched between his eyes seemed to ease ever so slightly. _'Good,'_ Prussia thought. He didn't like seeing his little brother so strained and unhappy... even if the circumstances maybe justified it. West gave his shoulders a little squeeze, as if needing to hug Prussia but afraid to, and Prussia did his best to give a hug back. Not that they were having some overly emotional moment like a certain couple of other Nations in the room he could mention.

Prussia started to look back towards the Italies, certain his little brother would want his turn at celebrating finding Veneziano, when movement outside the room caught his eye. There was another guard, gun raised and about to fire. The ex-Nation opened his mouth to shout a warning, but was silenced as South Italy raised his gun, firing a kill shot _without looking_? Prussia gaped for a moment (who the heck was this replacing the cowardly South Italy he knew!), watching the southern Italian turn his head slowly, staring at the downed guard as if daring him to resurrect and try again. Prussia was, well... impressed. West was _awesome_... but now he could see a bit more clearly how these two had managed to get in here so far.

This seemed to be the signal for Germany to get them moving. He cast one more look at North Italy, who shot a weak smile in return, before looking at Prussia. "Bruder," he asked, shifting and checking his own ammo while supporting the ex-Nation. "_Are_ you able to walk?" Prussia nodded his head, a second burst of energy filling him (and hopefully enough to last them out of here). Germany nodded then looked back at North Italy. The Nation was awake, but it was abundantly clear the Italian couldn't even sit up on his own. Walking? Impossible.

South Italy took a step back, eyes sweeping the room and landing on one of the wheeled tables that had been brought in by the humans for transport. "I'll fucking push Veneziano on that, but that means you have to do all the shooting Potato-bastard!"

Germany's face drew grim and determined, though there was a glimmer in his eyes that seemed pleased. "_That_ will not be a problem," he uttered, and god Prussia was so very proud of his little brother right now.

They transferred North Italy to the rolling table, wishing there were clothes for either of the naked captives but not caring enough to waste time searching or stripping fallen guards. Germany looked at Prussia, and though he knew better than to suggest Prussia also ride the table, he did have to say _something_ it seemed. "If you want to help push Veneziano or steer the table, that would be helpful."

Prussia nodded, smirking. He could easily translate what West meant, knew he was telling Prussia it was ok to use the table as support if he was too tired. The ex-Nation appreciated it... though he was determined to get out of here on his own feet without support. "So... where to?"

Germany reached up, cupping his ear and speaking into his earpiece. He scowled, shaking his head. South Italy, who was also listening with his own earpiece, swore. Prussia looked back and forth between the two, but didn't get a chance to demand answers. "Move,' Germany barked out, full military mode, and when West shouted like that even Prussia listened. They raced out of the room, and god Prussia had never been happier to leave a room in his life.

x 0 x 0 x 0 x

They'd turned on him, of course they had, but England had taken down three of them before they'd had the sense to stop advancing on America and face the bigger threat. Dodging towards the wall, sliding his body against it, England never ceased to fire, smoothly changing the clip in his gun as if it was as natural to him as breathing. You didn't live as long as he had and _not_ become skilled with such things, even if he wasn't prone to toting around sidearms anymore. Shots ricocheted off the wall around him or embedded themselves deeply but the Nation wasn't deterred, wasn't frightened. With grim calm he shot down another man, counting down just four to go. Three who were firing upon him yet and one...

One of the men had moved towards America, was pushing and shoving or pulling at him. Frankly, England couldn't spare too much time to get a good look. Shot up and crumpled on the ground or not, America was apparently doing what he did best... that being acting like a stubborn nuisance that was going to get his way one way or the other (and England of course thought that as fondly as possible). His anger spiked to see this harassment of America, unbelievable that England could feel any more rage than he had been before, and with eerie precision he took aim at the last three men focused upon him. One... two.. three.

The hallway went as quiet as it could with that alarm still echoing off the walls, though at this point England's ears were dead to the sound. For all intents and purposes... the hall had gone silent. The Nation stepped away from the wall, his green eyes locked on the man so caught up in molesting America that he didn't notice the danger he was in. With very precisely measured steps, England advanced slowly, his posture absurdly tall and proper given the situation. He could see America struggling on the ground, obviously clutching or protecting whatever he was curled over. England couldn't make his steps go any faster. The man actually kicked America in the side, and still, England couldn't seem to hurry up. A dangerous calm had washed over him... one that was truly false and so thinly masking the fury resting beneath.

England wasn't close enough to reach out and touch the human when the man finally noticed him, but in this sudden game of quick draw it was England who emerged the victor. The man jerked back, his gun clattering to the ground as he fell. The Nation sneered down at him for a moment before his attention fixed to America. Good lord, naked and riddled with bullet wounds... even for a Nation this was excessive damage. He swallowed the lump in his throat, sinking to his knees to check on his former colony.

The hands that shot up and hit him in the chest, sending his body back into the wall shocked him completely. For a moment all he could do was wince, trying to regain his wits as he sat on the floor, sagged against the wall of the hallway and rubbing at the strike point. What? What had just happened. America hadn't hit him, hadn't shoved him. A hit from that git would have sent him flying quite a bit further down the hall he was certain. But this hadn't been a case of a disoriented America lashing out. No... from out of America's protective hold had crawled something.

Green eyes blinked as they at last made contact with red, and England drew in a confused breath as he stared at this little child. Red eyes... auburn hair on an angelic and rather cherubic face. A face turned into a protective frown. The simple clothes the child wore were stained from white to a browning red by America's blood, jolting England back into action. Whatever problem this child had with him would have to wait. America seriously needed help.

Pushing back to his feet, England had not taken two steps forward when the little child yelled at him, all balled fists and trembling repressed fear. "Stay away!" England arched his brows sharply, not so much shocked to hear American accented English coming off the child's lips as he was surprised to hear _it_. This child was speaking to him as a Nation. England almost shook his head. That was impossible... he would have _known_ if there was a Nation lurking about Antarctica, surely he would have. But now that he looked at this child as a Nation, tried to sense him as such, England couldn't shake what his core was telling him as true.

This child was a Nation.

The words of Redglass replayed in his mind, and a very dark realization sank to his stomach. Though the fingers wrapped about his gun twitched, it wasn't because England had any desire to shoot this child. Oh quite the contrary... even if quite possibly... that was what he _should_ do. _'Best not to jump to conclusions... I... could... perhaps be wrong...'_ A voice in the back of his mind told him he wasn't though.

He took another step forward, but the little child just seemed to bristle at him. "No!" The little one yelled, this time flinging his arms wide, as if to block England's path to America's disturbingly limp and still form. England wasn't made of patience, especially not when it came to misbehaved children like this, and especially not when misbehaved children were jeopardizing the safety of someone he cared for. So, he ignored the protest.

"Look, step aside. I'm here to help him." He made to shove the child aside, but the persistent little thing grabbed at his arm and started to tug. England had every intention of shaking the brat off, but was startled to find he couldn't... even more so to find that the kid was actually dragging him. That dark heavy feeling that'd entered his gut seemed to grow much worse.

"I-Iggy...?" A faint rasping voice momentarily dispelled it, and both red and green eyes raced to stare at America. The Nation had moved at last, staring up at them through blood-spattered Texas from a loose jumble of limbs on the ground. It was pathetic to see America looking so weak, lying in a pool of his own blood, but having the Nation looking at him and speaking and god, having him right there eased something in England. He tried to step forward and huffed when he realized this little brat with red eyes was still holding onto him.

A weak chuckle escaped America's lips, and blue eyes focused on the child. "It's ok Oli... that's Iggy... he's cool." The little fingers holding to him let go slowly, and suddenly the child was sprinting back to America. With its face buried in America's chest, England couldn't actually see any tears, but the sobbing sounds that barely made it over the alarm, and America's soothing noises, made it clear the kid was crying. England ran a hand over his face, trying to compose himself, before coming to kneel by America. His hands ghosted over the other Nation's body as he cataloged the wounds. He clicked his tongue.

"You know, you could have at least _tried_ not to let _every_ bullet hit you," he chided softly, and America stopped his soothing to snort.

"Geez Iggy, kick a guy while he's down why don'cha?" The words held no actual hurt, no bite, and when England flicked his gaze from wounded body to America's face, he was pleased to see a slight smile there. He smirked back.

"I'm just saying, lad. And I believe I've asked you _not_ to call me that." America rolled his eyes before looking back at the child. The smile fell from his face a bit, and England could all but see him _thinking_.

"Hey England, this is Oliver... Oliver," he nudged the child, prompting it to look at England. "This is my big bro, England." The green eyed Nation wasn't about to get hung up over the fact that America had just referred to him as a brother in the present tense. No, instead he started to pull out some med supplies from the very small (and for this task inadequate) first aid kit, getting to work and cutting America off before he could say anything _stupid_ like 'he'll be taking care of you now'.

"Yes yes, a pleasure," he said off hand, working to do what he could to stop bleeding. "You can properly introduce me to the child _after_ I get you home."

America opened his mouth but words never came, the Nation nodding and relaxing back, trying to rest while England patched him up. Oliver watched England like an over protective little toy dog, apparently not entirely convinced England was to be trusted. _'Or perhaps he simply doesn't like me... America has a habit of befriending strange things that don't.'_ It wouldn't bother him at all, not having this child's affection.

An annoying and quite unwelcome torrent of French invaded his ear thanks to the communicator he'd all but forgotten he was wearing, angry and panicked and distorted as Italian and German cut over the line as well briefly. "England!" The frog snapped, furious and, well, _stressed_. "We need that escape route _now_! What _are_ you doing?" Muffled gun fire and the screams of panicked humans filtered over the comm as well, and England cursed. Was he expected to do _everything_?

He looked sharply at America, who stared at him in a wound-dazed sort of confusion. "It'd be too much to hope that _you_ know a safe route to whatever transports are used here, yes?"

America blinked, brows furrowing, but nodded. Bloody hell. France was absolutely not shutting up over the line, and England didn't have the time to patch up America and do recon. He grit his teeth, agonizing over what to do, when a voice by his side nearly made him jump.

"Need help?" Green eyes stared in thankful disbelief at the tiny creatures next to him. One appeared to be a little man with a long white beard and giant feet, sitting atop an arctic tern. The other seemed a cross between a seal and a penguin, quite plump and good natured and staring at America with pity. It was the tiny man who'd addressed England though, and it was to him that the Nation responded.

"_Yes_," he exclaimed emphatically, startling the two other Nations with him. America eyed him strangely, eyes flickering to the 'empty spot' he no doubt assumed England to be looking at. England wasn't of the mind right now to have America tease him about speaking to imaginary friends (not that it was likely America was going to do any teasing at the moment), so England made a show of cupping his hand over his communicator, as if he were speaking to France or Germany or South Italy. America didn't look fooled, but he didn't call him on it.

"I need to find a route to transports that can be used to take a large number of humans, and ourselves, out of here." The tiny man nodded his head, stroking his ice white beard.

"Ah, I understand." The little man patted the side of the tern's neck, and the bird took to flight, hovering in a manner that would have been impossible for a mundane member of the species. "We'll have to hurry up though, most of those 'transports' are being used by the people who work here escaping."

To the side he heard Oliver ask America who he was talking to, mildly pleased to hear America make a plausible excuse for him. Still, he didn't have time to listen to America, not with France shouting his ear off, Germany and Romano adding to the chaos and _couldn't someone turn off that stupid alarm already?_ Too much all at once. Pulling out his copy of this base's blueprint, England offered it to the little man. It took him a moment, but at last he was able to understand the 'map' and point out their target destination. That solved one problem...

"I have companions... they need a _safe_ route out..." He looked beseechingly at the helpful creatures.

"Well... we could guide them..." The penguin-seal started.

"But they can't see us, can they?" The bearded man finished. England shook his head. The tiny man shrugged before pulling a whistle out of his beard, blowing it. With a sudden frosty breeze and a ice breaking pop, another little person on a tern appeared, this time a tiny bearded woman with equally large feet. "If you give us something they _can_ see, we can dangle it in front of them if you like."

"Brilliant," England murmured, digging into his kit and pulling out some unused gauze, giving a strip to the little man and little woman. He mouthed a 'thank you' to the two as they sped off, and swiftly he spoke over the comm line. "France... Germany and Romano, listen carefully. I have found a route to our escape location, but I'm unable to guide you personally. _However_, I have sent help. You will see floating gauze, _follow it_."

There were angry and disbelieving mutters of protest from Romano, and a snide comment from France, but at least the frog was familiar with England and his (according to others), quirks. Still, the line went quiet, so England hoped that meant all was well. Which meant it was time to get moving. He looked at America, who was apparently choosing to read the atmosphere at the moment. The American began struggling to his feet, and both England and Oliver helped him.

"As quickly as you're able, alright lad?" England's voice was actually soft, encouraging, and America gave him as much of a grateful hug as he could before nodding.

"Thanks Iggy," he whispered, teary eyed, and England feigned annoyance to hide the way his own eyes wanted to mist over.

"Let's move then, alright Oliver?" He didn't really want the little one to come, but it was obvious how attached America was. Plus... well, America really would need all the help he could get moving through these halls. England couldn't support America _and_ potentially defend them from roaming gunmen. The child nodded his head, happy to help America at the very least. The penguin-seal let out a little bark and began to slip and slide ahead of them, making serpentine curves to keep from outpacing the slow progress of the Nations.

It was _very_ slow, America leaning nearly all of his weight on England, limbs dragging no matter how determined the younger Nation looked. "A diet," England muttered when America's spirits seemed to be dipping. "I'm... putting you... on one..."

America whined but seemed to straighten up a bit. "So mean," he complained, but he seemed to redouble his efforts.

They only encountered one more gunfire hotspot as they made their way to their goal, and they made it through blessedly unscathed. England was relieved to see that the other groups had managed to make it there first, transports secured and some very unhappy scientists rounded up and captured. England didn't let himself celebrate until everyone was on board, until he'd said goodbye and thank you to the creatures that'd helped them all.

As they started to sail away, as he looked at the previously missing Nations, England finally started to breathe easily again. He watched America sleep, Oliver cuddled at his side. He looked at Prussia 'resting his eyes' next to Veneziano, looked at North Italy slumbering with a tiny smile on his face and his hand in his brother's, and felt months of stress melting away. Quite honestly, he felt exhausted, felt he could fall asleep right now, coming down off all the worry and adrenaline. Instead he moved to where Germany was, to where the Nation was helping France guide and navigate the transport.

"Why don't you go back, keep an eye on them all?" Germany looked torn, obviously wanting to go be with his brother, but also desperate to make sure their escape was perfect. England gave him a little shove towards the resting rescued Nations, making the choice for him. "Go, the frog and I will handle this."

"Thank you," Germany uttered, his gratitude naked in his tone. The solid Nation headed back, and England moved to stand next to France, not even flinching when an arm was draped across his shoulders, not resisting when he was tugged to lean on the Frenchman. He'd hate France again later, he was bloody exhausted right now and France's wandering pervert hands were behaving.

"We did it," England breathed at last, a smile on his lips and his eyelids feeling heavy.

"We did," France agreed, and nothing else really need be said. Not for now.

* * *

**A/N:**

_Finally!_ The captives are free! Loose ends remain, oh yes, so the story continues. But yay freedom? And yes, for those wondering, there shall be some brotherly fluff coming up.

The mystical creatures that help out are mildly/loosely based off of various ice/winter creatures from various cultures.

Reviews are welcome and loved. I... I don't know what's going on with all the changes to this site and such, but if I miss replying many apologies!


	12. Chapter 12

Everything felt... soft.

Not hazy and distant, like it'd been feeling for who knew how long. Not numb or fuzzy and indistinct. He was definitely lying on something soft, and comfortable and _warm. _It was such a foreign feeling, and his mind struggled to understand it all. Really though... how much should he struggle to understand? He felt warm and soft and comfortable. He wasn't cold or hurting or afraid. _'Blankets...'_ he realized, must be covering him, raising his temperature.

Nothing felt as warm as his right hand though, nothing as real and hot and wonderful as the weight in his hand and surrounding it.

Veneziano opened his eyes, squinting against the light for just a moment. Everything felt blurred and distorted and unfocused, but he knew it would pass. Surely it must. If he was here, feeling so warm and safe and wonderful... then he must... he must be...

"F-Fratello?" He followed the voice, followed the feel of the weight in his hand to see what was nearly a mirror image of him seated at the side of the bed. Romano stared at him like a man who'd been jolted awake, who wasn't entirely certain if he was awake or dreaming, and the thought of it nearly made Veneziano break out into a laugh. Wasn't he the one who should be questioning if this was just a dream?

"Veneziano... h-hey, are you awake?" The weight in his hand increased... no, the pressure tightened. There was a loud scraping sound as Romano stood from his stool abruptly, the furniture clattering over onto the floor. Too stunned to speak for a moment, the younger of the Italies tried to process the memories that crept up, tried to understand what was going on. Was he really... could it be true... was he... was he...

Free?

More heat, this time spilling from his eyes and down his cheeks. Tears, something he'd been trying so very hard not to shed in _that place_ in front of _those people_. Sure, he was prone to tears when he got emotional, but he'd tried so hard not to cry in front of them...

"Damnit Veneziano, _answer me!_" His brother's yelling snapped Veneziano out of the past, reminded him that he was _here_... wherever that was... and that his poor fratello looked like he was about to burst from worry.

Coughing and sniffling, he tried to nod his head. He felt so very weak, he almost felt like a stranger trying to manipulate his body. "V-Ve... I'm..." He was at a loss for what to say, so it was a good thing when he was suddenly gripped in a hug, his brother nearly falling on top of him to do so. More memories of the rescue flooded into Veneziano's mind, and he just couldn't help it. He started bawling, crying loud and sloppily and like a little child. Surely it could be forgiven and overlooked... especially since it sounded like Romano was doing the same.

"D-Damn it... You s-stupid little brother..." Romano's voice was muffled into Veneziano's shoulder, but the younger Italy heard each and every grumble that passed through his brother's lips. Still, despite the verbal abuse reaching his ear as his brother's mouth turned more and more foul, Veneziano felt loved. He felt it in the tone of the words and the tight _tight_ way his brother hugged him close. He felt it in every tear that fell from his brother's eyes.

"Ve... brother... am I... home...?" The question crept past his lips before he could even really process it, and the moment he uttered it his heart gave an uncomfortable little flop. His body tensed and so did Romano's, his kin releasing him enough to lean back slowly.

His eyes puffy and red, South Italy stared at him in disbelief, worry and fear poorly hidden in his eyes.

"Of course you are... i-idiot... can't you tell?" Hot as his brother's voice was, there was honest trepidation.

Veneziano lowered his gaze, tempted to bite his lip as he thought about it. Tried to feel it. If he was _home_, back in _his country_... then he shouldn't even have to wonder. He should know. Deep in his bones and his blood... he should never _ever_ have to question if he was on Italian soil.

But he was... but he couldn't tell... and the misery that began to creep up his spine and freeze his fingers and toes left him feeling dizzy. "I... I can't... tell..."

Romano cut him off, giving his body a bit of a shake, bedside manners for the sick be damned apparently. "That's just because you're tired! I bet you're just... just... you're just confused right now. That's all."

Veneziano gave the room he was in a proper look though, and sure enough it was his room... in his house. How could he feel nothing being _here_? There were more memories that came forward in his mind... memories that brought an answer he didn't want to face. That horrible feeling... feeling the connection to his people slowly being severed... feeling them pulling away and depending on someone else. He could remember... he could remember the pain and emptiness that'd started to fill him that had nothing to do with the physical tortures he went through...

"Fratello... am I... am I... still... North Italy?"

"Of course you are!" Romano snapped out the answer without hesitation, and Veneziano flinched. His brother always had a bad temper... but he'd never heard his brother quite _that_ angry before!

The older Italian fully released the younger, taking a step back from the bed and propping his hands on his hips. "Why the hell would you even ask that, stupid little brother!" Romano was fuming, his face bright red as he jerked a thumb at his chest. "_I'm_ South Italy, and _you;'re..._" He pointed accusingly at Veneziano. "_North Italy_! Now and forever, got it? Don't think you can dump all of the responsibility on me damnit! Do you even know how hard I've had to work covering your share of things? _Chigi!_ Once you get out of this bed you're taking over for a while... I'm taking a vacation!"

Romano had taken to pacing, and Veneziano would almost swear he saw angry puffs of steam coming from his brother's nose as he ranted. "And you're cooking for me a week.. no... a month! Anything I want! And... and..."

South Italy stopped suddenly, fixing a glare that was softened only by the worry that tried to force him to tears. "And you're not allowed to go off with Grandpa Rome without me ever again, got it!" Romano stormed back to the bed, grabbing up Veneziano's hand and holding it so tight it hurt. "It took us forever to be together... s-so... it's you and me... _North and South Italy_... until... the end. Got it? You're not allowed to die... o-or... stop being a Nation without me."

The two Italians locked eyes, and North Italy gave his brother a little smile. He squeezed Romano's hand, and it seemed to be a signal for the two to hug again. It was much calmer this time, less frantic now that emotions were being spent and used up. Veneziano still couldn't feel it... his connection to his people or his land... but it'd be ok. Romano said he was still Italy... so... so it'd be ok. He'd believe his big brother. "Thank you fratello..." He whispered the words. Romano just squeezed him in answer.

"Oh? It's quiet again? But I thought I heard voices! Helloooo? Romano? Ita~? Are you awake?" From the doorway came a familiar voice, and North Italy looked up to see Spain entering the room. The moment the Spaniard took in the scene his face broke into a giant smile, the older Nation all but skipping into the room. "You're awake! Ita, welcome back! Romano, see? I told you he'd wake up soon!"

Grudgingly South Italy looked up, moving to sit at the side of the bed rather than hug North Italy any longer. Spain rushed in, setting a basket he was carrying down by the bedside before giving Veneziano a hug of his own. "Welcome back, welcome back!" Warm and exuberant as ever, Spain's happiness to see North Italy couldn't be hidden. Nor could the relieved look he shot to South Italy as well.

"Thank you big brother..." Veneziano started, when suddenly it hit him. That... that smell! That wonderful wonderful smell! "V-Ve... big brother Spain... is that... did you bring..."

South Italy started to sniff as well, his eyes suddenly growing wide as he tossed an angry look at Spain. "Oy! Bastard! I said just bring some tomato juice!"

Sure enough, Spain ducked down, picking up his basket and pulling back the cover to reveal a package of freshly cooked pasta. Veneziano was all but drooling as he stared at it, and would have literally tossed himself onto it if he could just make his body work to do it.

"Aww, but Romano... Ita hasn't had any pasta in so long, the boss thought he'd really really like it..."

"Well of course he would you idiot! But the doctors said he wasn't allowed to eat solid foods right after he woke up! You bastard, I told you this!" South Italy had moved over and was trying to physically pull the basket away, Spain resisting feebly.

"I'm sure he could do it... look how much he wants it..."

"I can do it, I can do it!" North Italy vehemently assured his brother. "I... I'm a Nation... we don't have the same medical recovery as our citizens... and to recover I need pasta. Please Romano... pastaaa~"

"Am I the only one with any sense in here... hey! Bastard!" Using his size to his advantage, Spain finally succeeded in getting the pasta to Veneziano, who sent him a grateful look before digging in. "Stop that... damn it!"

Pouting and crossing his arms, Veneziano was in too much pasta bliss to watch his brother pout and grumble over the situation. He was in his own personal heaven so he didn't pay any attention as Spain tried to apologize and get back in his brother's good graces. All that mattered right now... no... _ever_... was the wonderful wonderful taste of pasta in his mouth!

There was a rumble in his stomach, a growling noise that was heard throughout the room.

"...Ita? Are you... ok?"

The rumble repeated, and Veneziano began to feel a bit... unwell...

"Damnit! See, I told you!"

"Hold on Ita, I'll get a bucket! Hold on, wait for the boss!"

"P-Pasta... don't... leave... me..."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Short... so short! And... ugh, I can't really vouch for the quality either. But it's an update! I haven't written _anything_ in so long it's been driving me mad! So... even if this is utter crap... I'm just happy to have it up!

I had to rewrite this so many times, trying to keep it from being a massive angst fest... and it still was damn it! This was supposed to be brofluff for the Italies! Oh well. Maybe I'll do better next chapter: brofluff German style.

Whenever I get that up. Sigh. Thanks for reading, and reviews are truly loved.


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